


Misunderstood

by BellaBaby2468, Clarrisani



Series: Saving Grace [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, M/M, Sibling Incest, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 23:32:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaBaby2468/pseuds/BellaBaby2468, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clarrisani/pseuds/Clarrisani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam go against their father's orders and make their way to Bobby's, but everything isn't sunshine and rainbows in the brothers new relationship. Written as an RP on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \- Written as an RP via submissions on Tumblr. Clarrisani is Dean, BellaBaby2468 is Sam  
> \- BellaBaby2468 Tumblr: http://humming-metallica-in-the-tardis.tumblr.com/  
> \- Clarrisani Tumblr: http://clarrisani.tumblr.com/  
> \- Dean is 20; Sam is 16

Dean woke up slowly, eyes blinking away the fuzziness in his vision. He could feel the tell-tale ache of coming down from pot, and he winced. He hated the comedown. He shifted slightly, the slight pain in his ass reminding him just what he’d gotten up to the night before. A smile quickly spread over his lips as he became aware of his surroundings, faltering as he realized he was on his side with Sam wrapped around him from behind. Dammit, why the hell did Dean always end up the little spoon in the morning? It didn’t matter who he was with – he always ended up this way. He rested his hands on Sam’s arms, letting his head drop back onto the pillows as he began plotting out their day.

Sam was dreaming. He was in a field, filled with yellow and white daisies. Dean was there. That was nice. They were just smiling at each other, warmth spreading through the air between them. But then there was fog… Black and thick. Spreading low over the pretty grass like water. Frowning, he looked down. It was swirling around his toes, rising and rising. 

But then he was awake, blinking lazily. Ew, he felt gross. And sore. Damn pot. His ass didn’t feel so clean… And there was probably random bits of grass and twigs through the bed, neither of them having cleaned themselves properly. Then he realized he was wrapped around his brother, he was the big spoon, and it was all okay. Laughing softly, he pressed a little closer, nuzzling into the back of his neck. He felt so much better this morning, apart from physical qualities, a calm happiness inside him. Maybe it was the way Dean smelled, how pretty the skin of his shoulders were in the ray of sun from the crack in the curtains, or the way it made his hair light up. Maybe it was a mood swing. If the latter was the case, he would be ecstatic all day, until someone jokingly mentioned an insecurity of his. Hopefully it was just the sun on his beautiful brother.

Dean knew when Sam woke up from the change in his brother’s breathing. They’d shared a bed for so long when they were younger that Dean had memorized every little thing about the way Sam slept. Dean smiled when he heard the laugh, a sense of relief flooding through him. Sam wasn’t freaked out then. He found one of Sam’s hands with his own, threading their fingers together. “Morning, baby boy.”

Sam hummed, gently squeezing his brother’s hand back. “Hey, De. I love you” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure why he said that, but was sure it would become a regular thing for him. He just wanted Dean to know. To never doubt it. Lifting a leg up, he wrapped it around his brother’s hip, pulling him tighter against his body. “Hah. Mine now. Not going anywhere,” he declared, kissing him again. Sam felt great. Perfect even. And they were going to see Bobby today; that was even better.

Dean laughed, reaching back and pulling Sam against him. “Love you too, Sammy. And we’ll see who’s whose.” Dean checked his watch, noting it was still early enough that most sensible people would still be in bed and that sounded like a good idea to him. “So,” he said, “I say we pack up and head out in a couple of hours. Should reach civilization by about midday, jack a car and head for Bobby’s. Hell, might even let you drive if you ask nice enough.”

Sam laughed, nodding. “You’re only saying that because it’s not the Impala,” he teased, knowing full well that Dean wouldn’t let him anywhere near the wheel of his car. A random stolen car, however, was different. Squeezing him harder, he nipped gently at the back of his brother’s neck. Sam wanted all of his brother, right about now. He didn’t know where it came from, but it was there. Not entirely sure that it was actually sexual, he just kissed along the back of his shoulder, up his neck, then made him roll back towards him just a little so he could reach his jawline.

Dean scowled at the mention of the Impala. Dad had given it to him for his 18th birthday and gotten himself a truck, but when this hunt had come up and Dad had hidden them in the cabin he’d taken the Impala with him. ‘Making sure you stay put,’ had been John’s words. ‘Do not leave this place unless something comes after you’. Hell, Dean didn’t even know what their Dad was hunting and it pissed him off. Dean pushed the thoughts aside as Sam began kissing him, Dean happy that it hadn’t just been a one night, drug induced thing. He sighed contently, rolling onto his back as Sam kissed his jaw. Dean turned his head, catching Sam’s lips with his and cupping Sam’s face in his hand.

Sam smiled into the kiss, bringing one hand up to cover Dean’s hand on his cheek, keeping it there. He was half on top of his brother without really committing to it, just as long as he could reach his mouth, it was all good. His hand slid down Dean’s chest, tracing over his lean stomach. Then he cupped his cock and balls, pressing gently, just teasing. There was nothing on his mind except for his brother, his body, and making him smile. So all of a sudden he slipped under the covers, kissing his chest. His other hand was intertwined with Dean’s, pinning it down onto the pillow. He assumed this was okay with him, he trusted his brother to tell him if he felt uncomfortable.

Dean couldn’t help the surprised little yelp when Sam went for his groin. He didn’t expect Sam to be quite this forward when he wasn’t high. Dean should really have expected it though, because once Sam put his mind to something he went for it. Dean let out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes and focusing on the feel of Sam as he gripped Sam’s fingers tighter with his own. “Horny, Sam?” he asked, laughing.

Sam giggled against his skin, traveling down further, dragging his lips over his stomach. “Maybe,” he replied, free hand squeezing his hip lightly. Nibbling at his other hip, he then gently gripped the base, stroking over his length. He continued exploring Dean’s body with his mouth, working over his thighs, then back up to his stomach, all the while lightly touching him. 

Dean had to fight to keep from thrusting up into Sam’s mouth. He chewed on his lower lip, focussing on not moving and just letting Sam do what he wants. He closed his eyes, letting himself just feel. He chuckled at Sam’s little walking fingers move, the chuckle turning into a groan as those fingers found a nipple. “Love your mouth, Sammy,” Dean whispered, trying to control his breathing.

Sam hummed a little, liking the praise, and the sound of Dean’s laugh. He would die for that laugh. But the best was when he made his brother laugh so hard that he was on the floor, practically crying with laughter. Not that it happened very often. Taking Dean down a little further, he gently squeezed his nipple, pulling at it a tiny bit. Sam loved this, making his brother come undone for him, no worries or stress, just feeling good. It was all he could give him. 

Dean let out a long breath as Sam slid down further on him. “Yeah baby boy, just like that.” He brought his hand down from Sam’s hair, trailing his fingertips down Sam’s face to where his lips were around his cock. He watched the path of his fingers, the slow slide of his cock in and out of Sam’s mouth and it almost broke him. “Fuck,” he groaned, head falling back.

Sam watched Dean’s fingers trace down his face, coming down to rest on his lips. Closing his eyes, he took him down all the way, lips and nose nuzzling into the small nest of light curls at the base. Only moved up and down a tiny bit, just focusing on using his tongue to scrape along all those nerves along the underside. He could so get used to this. He loved the way it felt, mouth full of Dean, the slick slide of him. Tugging on his nipple a little harder, he hummed around his brother’s cock. He was enjoying himself, a lot more than he had for months. Hell… A year or two.

“Fuck Sam, gonna make me cum if you keep doing that,” Dean said through gritted teeth. The urge to thrust up into Sam’s mouth was getting stronger, and it was getting harder and harder to fight back that urge. “Such a little cock slut, Sammy. That what you are, baby boy? Like having your mouth on my cock?” He pressed his head back into the pillow, stroking Sam’s jaw and feeling it flex and tremble with every move. “Fuck I love you.”

Sam giggled and hummed around his cock, hoping Dean would get the message that he was agreeing. His brother’s fingers felt good on his jaw. Nobody had ever done that: touching his face while he was going down on them. They’d grabbed his hair, tugged it, but never touched his face. Especially not his jaw, right around his lips. Taking his hand away from Dean’s nipple, he touched a finger to his brother’s hand on his face, humming louder around him, closing his eyes and trying to send the message. He kind of liked this. Not being able to speak. Just communicating through touches, looks and sounds. Sam considered tracing a heart on his chest in reply to the “I love you”, but decided that Dean probably wouldn’t make it out. Instead, he slid his hand under his brother’s ass and lifted, looking up at him pointedly.  _You can move, Dean._

Dean saw that look and swallowed hard, gently brushing his hand over Sam’s cheek and across his eyes, feeling the flutter of those beautiful eyelashes. He brought the hand back along Sam’s lips then back to his jaw, gently thrusting up into Sam’s mouth and groaning at the warm slide. No one had ever let him do this before. Usually they would refuse to suck his cock, or they would gag or yell at him. Sam was different, and thank god for that.

Sam closed his eyes, momentarily forgetting what he was doing, fingertips ghosting over his eyelids. God. That was the best feeling he’d ever had. Lost in a haze, he was brought back to attention when he felt Dean’s hips move under him. Reaching up, he placed his palm over his brothers’ heart, feeling the gentle thud. That was the most grounding thing he could find. Lifting the heel of his palm up, he dragged his fingers down his chest, still lost in some form of haze. How was he supposed to think normally when he was like this? Dean’s fingertips trailing over his lips, his face, like he was some kind of art…

“So close, Sammy,” Dean breathed, trying to keep the movement of his hips to a minimum. Dean had always prided himself on his self-control. Sure it had come from a lot of experience, but after the first time when he’d come so fast and easily and been mocked by the girl he was with Dean had made it one of his goals to keep himself in check. But Sam… it was so damned hard with Sam. Dean had a feeling he may have met his match, and of course it had to be family. Dean could feel his body shaking, feel his balls tightening as he got closer to release.

Sam hummed more, and started moving, bobbing his head up and down. Lapping at the underside, and giggled in the back of his throat, watching the way Dean had to force his hips back down on the bed, when they just wanted to thrust up. But he was in no hurry. This was where he wanted to be. Alive. With his brother. His beautiful brother that loved him more than anyone else did. More than anyone else ever would. Bobby was a close second though, and that thought got him excited, he wanted to be at Bobby’s house. But first, Dean.

It was the humming more than anything that was bringing him undone. The vibrations went straight through him, throwing every shred of longevity Dean had out the window. Dean gritted his teeth, breath coming in harsh gasps now as he tried to keep from thrusting his cock straight down Sam’s throat. The dirty little noises that were coming from between those lips of Sam’s made it worse – the little wet sounds as Sam bobbed his head on Dean’s cock. Dean looked down and that was the end of him. “Fuck, Sam! Gonna… dammit!”

Sam was lost in thought, random memories of Bobby’s house. He’d fallen down the stairs once, and when John tried to help him up, Sam had called out for Dean. The look on John’s face was almost… Angry. Angry he’d fallen, that he wasn’t good enough. But then Dean’s breathing god harsh and labored, and he looked up at him. How does someone forget they’re giving a blowjob, anyway? He would have smile if he could, would have fucking grinned at his expression. But he currently had something in his mouth. Oh, that’s right, his brother’s cock. Sam giggled again, picking up the pace, then he heard those strained words, and sucked harder in anticipation.

Dean couldn’t remember having a morning blow job. Ever. Now here he was cumming down his brother’s throat and the sun was barely up. “Fuck, Sammy,” Dean groaned, his hips stuttering. He glanced down, spotting a dribble of his cum escaping the corner of Sam’s lips and Dean knew if he wasn’t already cumming, that would have done it. Once he’d done he collapsed back onto the bed, body trembling with aftershocks.

Sam drank it all down happily, but let a tiny bit slide down his chin, hoping for a good reaction out of Dean. Jackpot. Gently pulling off Dean, he licked his lips and smiled up at him, before crawling up his body to straddle his chest. “Morning, Dean-o” he grinned, pawing at his chest. He wasn’t worried about anything right now, it was all okay. Being at Bobby’s would make everything better, and he had his brother. God Dean was pretty. All freckled and pouty, face flushed from just cumming. He wanted to make him look like that _all_ the time. Just then he got an idea, and was so ashamed and embarrassed by it that he had to duck his head, hide his face and the blush that covered it.

Dean could only hum a hello to Sam, still lost in post-orgasmic bliss. He cracked his eyes open to look up at Sam, swallowing hard as he saw the cum still on Sam’s chin. He reached up and caught Sam by the back of the neck, dragging him down so Dean could slowly lick clean Sam’s chin before kissing him good morning. He could definitely get used to this. He slid his hand down Sam’s chest, tweaking a nipple before finding Sam’s cock and gently trailing his fingers over it.

Sam was still grinning as Dean pulled him forward and licked him clean, sighing into the kiss. Best good morning _ever._ Then he gasped into his brother’s mouth, Dean’s hands finding his nipple. He felt that hand drag down him, reach his cock, and stroke it, teasing. “Uuuhh Dean” he moaned, half of it just a whisper. Leaning forward into the touch, he kissed his brother again, feeling even happier than he was a minute ago.

Dean grinned at Sam’s moan, nipping at his brother’s lower lip as he stroked his fingers along Sam’s length again, this time a little firmer. He moved his kiss from Sam’s mouth to that sensitive spot he had discovered the night before. He licked it, then blew on the moist area and grinned, bringing his mouth to Sam’s ear and tugging at the earlobe with his teeth. “Can I ride you, Sammy?”

Sam whimpered into his mouth, being bitten was just that thing that undoes him. Then Dean’s mouth found that spot from last night, the one he never knew he had, and he started moaning, a constant string of them. His mouth was unfair, attacking that spot, and then his earlobe. Closing his eyes, he gripped onto his brothers shoulders. He was lulled into a false sense of security, and then Dean asked that one little question, and Sam literally yelled “ _ **oh my god**_ ”. He almost came right then, and that was beyond ridiculous. Nodding desperately, he practically just had to stare at Dean’s chest below him, mouth hanging open. God he needed that. Right now. He wasn’t sure where the intense reaction came from, maybe it was some side effect of his screwed up brain or something…

Dean laughed at Sam’s reaction. “I take that as a yes.” With a practiced move he flipped them over so that he was on top of Sam, shifting so that he could straddle Sam’s hips. He kissed Sam, teasing his nipples with the pads of his thumbs then reached out to the small side table. Dean reached inside, grabbing the small bottle of lube he’d hidden in there when he’d arrived. He’d hidden it for personal use, but this was so much the better. He chuckled, kissing the tip of Sam’s nose. “So, baby boy, do you want to prep me or would you rather just lay back and watch?” He threw Sam a wink and a filthy smirk, then nipped at Sam’s jaw.

Sam laughed too, slightly embarrassed at his own reaction. Then he was being flipped, and his brother was on top of him all of a sudden, kissing him. Dean’s hands on him was the best feeling in the world. Because he touched him like he loved him. He felt it, in every kiss and stroke. Sam thought about the question for a moment, before answering “as much as I love prepping you, De… I want to see your face while you shove your own fingers up there, hear those pretty little sounds, all just from touching yourself” in a matter-of-fact tone. Folding his arms behind his head, he crossed his legs and waited, taking up a leisurely air. He’d always wondered if Dean had ever touched himself… Not just jerked off, of course he did. But  _really_ touched, like he was about to. He would have to film it sometime, his little noises, his fucked-out expression. That was something to bring up later…

Dean grinned, setting back and kneeling over Sam. He spread some of the lube onto his fingers, watching Sam’s face as Dean gently pushed a finger inside himself. It wasn’t the first time Dean had done this. Sometimes when he jerked himself off he would press his fingers into himself, imagining it was Sam doing it. He had always assumed that it would be nothing more than a dream, a fantasy, but here he was straddling Sam’s waist while he stretched himself open. Dean worried his lower lip, closing his eyes as he slid a second finger inside. He was still stretched open from the night before, but nevertheless Dean knew better than to rush things. He worked the fingers in and out, unconsciously rocking his hips as he scissored his fingers.

Sam closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a little breath. Slowly opening them, he looked up at his brother. The beautiful soul. Opening himself up for Sam… How did he get so lucky? He didn’t want to talk right now, just wanted to watch, and enjoy. Savor his brother. Blinking repeatedly, he arched his back just a little, breathing softly. Dean’s lower lip was trapped between his teeth, and he looked so pretty, all spread out for his brother. How many times had he imagined this? Dean touching himself to the thought of Sam? Thousands probably. Late at night, or on particularly long trips between hunts. Now it was actually happening.

Dean let out a long breath as he slid in a third finger, feeling a slight burn that eased as he slowly thrust his fingers in and out of himself. He chewed on his lip, trying to keep himself from moaning. He was already half hard again, and Dean glanced down at Sam before Dean twisted his fingers and probed for that spot he knew well. As he brushed his prostate he gasped, hips jerking forward reflexively. He decided against doing it again – next time he hit his prostate it would be with Sam’s cock. He shuddered at the thought, feeling a hot flush shoot through him and pool at his groin. He slowly pressed a forth finger into himself, opening himself up completely. Not long now.

Sam reached up with one hand, and touched a finger to Dean’s lower lip, whispering “make sound”, radiating calm and controlled. He didn’t want his brother to bite his lip, keep sounds in, no matter how cute it was. He wanted the pretty little sounds and gasps, his lips to be parted and relaxed, letting all sounds out. Then there was a gasp, and he jerked on top of him. Sam knew he’d touched that little spot, and smiled a little. Dragging his fingers down from Dean’s lip, he trailed along his throat, down his waist, hips, thighs, then calves. Hardly touching, just admiring.

Dean shook his head at Sam’s comment, flicking his tongue out to lick Sam’s finger. Dean shivered as those fingers trailed over him, skin tingling at the touch. Dean pulled his own fingers free, grabbing the lube and reaching back to slick up Sam’s cock in a few sure strokes. Then, eyes on Sam’s face and a grin on his lips, Dean shifted back and caught hold of Sam’s cock. He guided it to his hole, then slowly eased himself down along the length until he was fully seated. “Fuck yes,” Dean breathed, rocking slightly and enjoying being filled.

Sam shivered, watching that tongue dart out. Then Dean’s fingers were touching him, getting him ready. That smile killed him. “Oh!” he breathed, as his brother filled himself up, tight hotness surrounding him. Closing his eyes, he stroked up and down his brothers body, all the way from his waist to the curve of his knee, committing this feeling to memory. “De” he whispered “please”.

“Easy, baby boy,” Dean said, trailing his fingers along Sam’s chest and watching it rise and fall beneath his touch. “Gonna take care of you.” Dean waited for a moment, letting his body adjust to Sam. He leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to Sam’s lips before he sat back, slowly beginning to rock. Satisfied that he was ready Dean lifted himself up, feeling Sam’s cock drag almost all the way out of him, before he let himself fall back down. He repeated the motions, hands on Sam’s chest for leverage as he watched Sam’s face, mesmerized by the flushed skin and lust filled eyes.

Sam waited, patient, feeling the soft touch of his fingers, his lips. Those lips lingered, even though they were only there for a second. He let out a soft sigh, Dean lifting himself up, dropping back down. God, God help him. He moved his free hand to rest on top of Dean’s, holding them to his chest. He would sell his soul for this. For his brother. His expression was mesmerizing, soft and awed, though who knew what was around to be awed at, apart from Dean himself. His freckles were scattered, sprinkled from his nose outwards, like decorative sugar. That’s what Dean smelt like right now, burnt sugar, not apples and whiskey like usual. It was so sweet…

Dean turned his hand over, threading his fingers through Sam’s and gripping tight. Dean couldn’t help but notice how young his brother looked right now. How innocent. He knew he really should feel guilty, but all Dean could feel was a burning feeling of love and admiration for Sam. This was the one person who had ever stood up to John Winchester, something Dean himself was too scared to do. So many times Dean had wanted to question their father, and just as many times Dean had kept his mouth shut. Sam, however, would ask those questions. Dean admired him for that. And here Dean was, riding Sam, filled by Sam, one with Sam. It felt so right it was scary. Dean didn’t believe in soul mates, but at this very moment he was tempted. A soft whimper escaped him as Dean let his head fall back, focusing on the slide of Sam’s cock inside him as Dean moved.

Sam could hardly think straight, mind filled with his brother. He wondered if this moment could ever be topped, and doubted it. “Dean” he whispered, like a murmured prayer. Sam couldn’t explain how he felt right now. Like he wasn’t his own person anymore. Neither was Dean. They were something else. He knew how ridiculous that sounded, but it was true. They were true. “Love me,” he asked, holding onto the hand on his chest, like it was the only important thing in the world.

“Am Sammy,” Dean whispered, pulling Sam’s hand up and kissing the fingers. “Do.” Dean shifted his position, moaning as he found himself sinking even deeper onto Sam’s cock. Dean rolled his hips with every thrust, leaning back just enough that each downward movement slammed into his prostate. He could hear himself whimpering and moaning, gasping every time Sam’s cock hit that sweet spot. Dean was well and truly hard again, not quite able to believe he was going to get off twice and the sun had barely made it into the sky.

Sam closed his eyes and breathed out, trying to remember how. The sounds that Dean was making, spilling out of his mouth, were just too perfect. The sun was hitting one side of his face, lighting it up, catching the tips of his eyelashes. It didn’t actually get better than this. Period. Because this right here? This was Heaven. And Dean was by far the prettiest Angel. Sliding his hand up his brother’s thigh, he gently stroked along his cock, wanting to earn more moans out of him. “Love you too, De, always,” he whispered, breaths coming a little more quickly now.

Dean thrust up into Sam’s hand when the finger’s circled his own cock, Dean groaning. He decided Sam was being altogether too quiet, Dean clenching down on Sam during the next down stroke as Dean’s free hand reached forward and found Sam’s nipple. Dean loved this – making slow love with his brother. It wasn’t fucking. Dean had had sex, fucked, rooted, done the nasty, but he’d never made love. This… this was definitely different. It wasn’t about getting off more than it was about the connection, and Dean would quiet happily stay like this forever. Of course his body had other ideas as Dean felt the need to cum getting stronger, but Dean was going to try and hold it off for as long as he could. He rolled Sam’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then fell forward to kiss Sam while still moving on his cock.

 “aaah!” Sam cried out, trying to keep it quiet. Dean was clenching around him, how unfair. His nipple was being attacked too, and he moaned quietly, before Dean’s mouth was on his and he was silenced. Arching up into him, he stroked his brother a little faster, exploring his mouth. This was too amazing… he almost couldn’t handle it. Heat was slowly pooling in his stomach, so he stroked Dean a little faster, firmer. He would happily do this every morning. But maybe tomorrow,  _he_ would ride Dean, not the other way around. Then they would race each other downstairs just like old times, almost knocking Bobby over in the process. Things couldn’t be bad again, not after this.

“Wanna hear you, Sammy,” Dean whispered against Sam’s lips, letting out a shuddering breath as he realized he could still taste himself on them. He pulled back so he could sit again, dragging his hands down Sam’s chest, fingernails scraping lightly against the skin. “Need to hear you, baby boy.” Dean swiveled his hips, clenching down on Sam again and holding it as he continued to ride him. He wanted to keep it slow, but his body had other ideas as he moved just a little bit faster. “Wanna make you feel good,” he whispered, one hand closing around where Sam’s was on his cock. Dean slid his finger through his own precum, then took the tip of his finger into his mouth and sucked it off with a moan. Not as good as Sam’s, but he’d be full of that soon enough.

Sam moaned, watching him lick that pre-cum off his finger. “Dean, Dean,” he breathed, hips jerking up into him. Nodding, he squeezed the hand intertwined with his, still sitting on his chest. He couldn’t keep still, but he had no control over how fast his brother rode him. Squeezing his hand tighter, he kept stroking Dean, throwing his head back. God he needed more, he was desperate for it now. “Dean please,” he whispered, panting now. His brother was clenching around him, and he couldn’t take it, “faster! Please!” he begged, followed by a needy groan.

“Don’t need to keep still, Sammy,” Dean said, gasping as Sam thrust up into him. “Takes two to tango.” Dean shifted, bracing himself on his thighs and sinking down deep, rocking himself on Sam’s cock so that it stroked his prostate. God that felt good. He raised himself up again, squeezing Sam’s fingers. “C’mon baby boy. Take me for a ride.”

And with that, Sam couldn’t stay still. Letting go of Dean’s cock and his hand, he reached down and gripped his hips, shuffling up the bed until he was sitting upright, leaning against the headboard. “God Dean,” he growled, before lifting his hips up, and slamming him back down, crying out at the feeling. Sam kept doing that, forcing his brother to ride him, as fast as he wanted. He assumed Dean would tell him if he was hurting, or uncomfortable. They were so close, chests almost flush, except his brother was up a little higher, still straddling him. Leaning closer, he sucked on Dean’s nipple, teasing it with his tongue.

Dean reached out, grabbing the rickety headboard with one hand for leverage as Sam began thrusting up hard into him. Dean shifted, adjusting his angle until finally he found the perfect position for Sam to hit his prostate with almost blinding force. Dean grunted with each hit, his free hand tangling Sam’s hair as Sam began to suck on a nipple. Dean’s lips brushed the top of Sam’s head as he rode Sam, rising and falling in opposition to Sam’s own movements. He tightened his fingers on the wood, hearing a splintering sound as his vision began to white out. “Oh God…” he said, gasping. “Right there, Sammy. Fuck.”

“God, Dean, fuck!” he groaned, feeling heat pool in his stomach. He kept his lips pressed to Dean’s chest, kissing instead of sucking this time, and kept fucking up into him, hitting that perfect spot every time. “Dean! Gonna…” he moaned, pressing into his chest. He couldn’t hold off any longer. Reaching in between them to grip his brother’s cock, he touched him quickly and hard, squeezing his eyes shut. After a few more thrusts up into him, he broke, with a cry of his brother’s name.

Dean didn’t hear him, the wood of the headboard cracking as Dean’s grip tightened as he came hard. He shouted Sam’s name, slamming down hard on Sam’s cock and taking himself over the edge. Through his hazy vision he saw the thin jets of his cum streaking over Sam’s chest and hitting Sam in the jaw, the image only making Dean come harder. He rode Sam through it, the edges of his vision greying until he eventually blacked out and slumped unconscious against Sam.

As he filled Dean up, he dully remembered his brother cum painting his jaw, before it went hazy. He almost blacked out, and knew he would have if he was in Dean’s position. His brother was slumped over him, still fully seated on his cock. Sam didn’t have the energy to move him right now, plus, he liked it. Letting his head loll back, he lazily stared up at the ceiling, panting hard. Fuck. He somehow got up the strength to reach up and run his fingers across his jaw, hand coming away white with Dean’s come. God that was hot. Bringing it up to his lips, and ran his tongue through it, letting out a little moan. “De…” he whispered, lazily carding his fingers through his brother’s hair, using his free hand. 

Dean was floating, coming in and out of consciousness. He vaguely sensed Sam’s hands in his hair and could still feel Sam’s softening cock still inside him. Dean knew he should move off Sam, but Dean still couldn’t move his body. He managed to hum a reply to his name, eyelids fluttering for a moment before he gave up and just let himself lay against Sam.

Sam laughed softly at the little hum of a reply, and licked the rest of Dean’s cum off his hand, before starting to rub his back. His whole body felt tingly and good, like he was on drugs again. Rubbing Dean’s lower back, he hummed a little, content. He was so sweet like this, totally fucked out and pliant. Even with Sam’s cock being oversensitive, Dean still felt great around him, and he didn’t really want his brother to get off him. So he didn’t try to move Dean, just kept stroking his hair and rubbing his back quietly, waiting for him to come around a little more.

It was a while before Dean was able to move, and he wasn’t complaining. A strong feeling of contentment settled over him, enjoying Sam’s caresses. Yes, he could definitely get used to this. Dean eventually managed to open his eyes and turn his head, looking at Sam and smiling. “Hey.” He brought his hand up to rest on Sam’s shoulder. He wasn’t cuddling, not at all. He was just resting.

Sam giggled, murmuring “hey”. God he was so cute right now… the hand on his back ceased stroking, and simply wrapped around him, pressing them as close together as possible. Dean may only be half heatedly cuddling, but he wasn’t. Full on snuggling and he wasn’t ashamed.

With a sigh Dean shifted, letting Sam’s cock finally slide free. Dean winced slightly, shifting again so he could rest against Sam a bit easier. “So,” Dean said, reaching up to wipe a small smear of his cum off a spot on Sam’s throat, “what brought that on?” Dean rested his head against Sam’s, closing his eyes. “Not that I’m complaining or anything.”

Sam smiled shyly, “just wanted to touch you. Now that I can,” he answered, almost wanting to be back in Dean. It was just… A little more intimate. But maybe it was uncomfortable for his brother. He was so close, greengreen eyes filling his vision, and he had no complaints about that.

Dean shifted so that he could check his watch, scowling as he looked at the time. He didn’t really want to move but he knew that if they wanted to be at Sioux Falls by tomorrow then they would have to soon. He kissed Sam on the temple, running a hand over Sam’s jaw and chuckling. “You need a shave, man.” He stretched, back cracking as he sat back in Sam’s lap. “We better shower, pack up and head out Sammy.”

“Shut up” he replied, a reflex reaction to the slight teasing. Pouting, he wrapped both arms around Dean and trapped him there, announcing “no. Nope. Not letting you get off my lap. Ever” with the authority of someone weaker than his brother. Like a five year old giving out orders. Kissing down Dean’s throat, he blew a raspberry into it, giggling.

 “Oi!” Dean pushed Sam back a little, fixing his poker face on to hide the fact Sam’s raspberry on his throat had tickled. Dean prodded Sam in the chest. “Sorry, baby boy, but if we want to make Bobby’s by tomorrow night we’re going to have to leave in the next hour. You go take a shower, and I’ll fix us some grub and try to work out what to say on the note we leave Dad.” He frowned. John was going to kill him for leaving the cabin.   
  
Dean had a funny feeling that whatever their Dad was hunting was gunning for either him or Sam, or maybe even both, which was why John had hidden them here in the first place. Both Dean and Sam were capable hunters, and John only left them when Sam had school. The fact that John had packed them up overnight and brought them here with firm instructions not to leave told Dean something was up. He knew he should probably listen to their dad’s orders, but right now Sam’s well-being was top of Dean’s priorities.

Dean leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Sam’s lips. “We can’t do anything while you’re holding onto me like that, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t want Dean to get out of his lap, not at all, but he  _did_ want to go to Bobby’s… So with a sigh, he reluctantly relaxed his hold on his brother, with a kiss to his chest first. Once they were disengaged, Dean strode over to the kitchen, and Sam scurried off to the bathroom, watching his brother as he went. Turning it on, he waited for the water to heat up, awkwardly standing there naked for a while. Once it was hot, he got in and tried to be as quick as possible, washing his hair and face, making sure to get all traces of Dean off him.

Bobby was more accepting and affectionate than dad, by a long shot, but he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t like hearing about this. Giggling to himself over the raspberry, he decided to make Dean laugh as much as possible the next few days at Bobby’s. It was going to be great, he was sure of that. Just like when they were kids. Before that one day changed it all inside his mind. He was going to enjoy his brother as much as possible. That was a vow.

Right now Dean would give anything for some red meat, but he and Sam had already eaten what they had days ago. Dean had considered going out and hunting down a deer but had decided against it. At least at Bobby’s they could have bacon. Instead they were stuck with oatmeal and long life milk that really wasn’t that long life once you opened it. Dean heated it up on the small camp stove, then pulled out a pen and paper and tapped the nib against his teeth. He thought for a long moment, then decided to just go with ‘Gone to Bobby’s - D.W.’. He placed it on the table, then headed to the bathroom and poked his head in the door. “Hurry up, Sammy. Food’s up and I need a shower. You use all the hot water and I’ll kick your ass.”

Sam jumped slightly, not expecting his brother to come in. It had never occurred to him to lock it though, it was Dean. Just Dean. He loved this. His brother was just walking around naked. That wouldn’t happen at Bobby’s though, they would have to touch in secret. “Get your butt in here, then!” he replied, washing the last of his conditioner out, before stepping onto the bathmat, leaving the water running. Padding over to the small basin and mirror, he rummaged through the cupboards, and got out a razor and shaving cream. 

“Hang on.” Dean ducked back out into the kitchen, turning off the camp stove. He’d learnt at a young age not to leave the stove on after he’d almost burnt down a motel when he was seven. Luckily their father had been there at the time and had given him a lesson in cooking. Sitting the pot of oatmeal on the table, Dean headed back to the bathroom. He couldn’t resist a teasing slap on Sam’s behind as he passed him and stepped into the shower.

“HEY!” he shrieked, hips jerking forward and away from Dean’s hand. Giving him a long, hard glare, he then went back to shaving. He was about halfway done already. Stealing a few glances at his brother, water running over his mostly smooth skin (there were a few scars from previous hunts), he finished up, washing his face. Towelling off, he leaned against the sink, unsure of what to do next. So he simply stood there, watching his brother with a teasing smile. 

Dean glanced around at where Sam was watching him and gestured toward the door. “Breakfast is on the table, baby boy.” Dean frowned as he looked up at the shower head, fiddling with the taps. “And for the record, this shower sucks.” Dean went back to washing, wincing slightly as he reluctantly cleaned away all evidence of their nightly and morning activities.

Sam watched for a few more seconds, grinning from ear to ear, before padding out into the kitchen, where a pot of oatmeal sat. Usually he’d skip breakfast if this was what was on offer. But he’d smoked a  _lot_ of pot last night, and he hadn’t eaten anything at all. So all of a sudden oatmeal looked good. Scooping half into a bowl, he grabbed a spoon and sat down on the carpeted floor of the living room, leaning against the bed frame. Still completely naked, probably dripping.

Dean finished washing and stepped out of the shower, making sure the taps were turned off properly. He then made quick work of shaving, packing his toiletry bag and his toothbrush. He wrapped a towel around his waist and ran his fingers through his hair as he headed back out into the main area. He threw Sam a grin and a wink before scooping himself out some oatmeal and sitting at the table. He polished off half the bowl before glancing toward the door. “I say we pack, lock this place down and hit the track. We should be able to steal a car at the nearby road house.”

Sam looked up at him from the floor, legs crossed, bowl in his lap. “Yeah, that sounds good,” he agreed, before adding “I don’t like that we’re stealing a car though…” in that little puppy dog straight A student voice he seemed to possess. “Do you think Bobby will call dad?” he asked, suddenly worried about getting caught, yelled at. Sam had finished already, practically before Dean had even gotten out of the bathroom, he just hadn’t bothered to get up yet. 

 “Probably. Just to let him know where we are.” Dean scooped another spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth, frowning at the bland taste. What he wouldn’t give for bacon. He watched Sam for a long moment before coming to a decision. “Look Sam… I think Dad stashed us here for a reason. I think he believes whatever he’s hunting right now could come after one or both of us so once we leave this place we’re going to have to watch our backs.” He poked at his food. “And I mean more than normal.”

Sam studied Dean for a moment, concluding that his brother was slightly scared. That wasn’t good. “Okay,” he nodded, trying to hide the fact that he was a little scared as well. Finally, he got up, strolling over to the kitchen sink, and washed his bowl. Leaning against the counter, he stared at the bottom of the sink, shiny stainless steel. Sam was scared. What if whatever it was got Dean?

Dean noticed the change in Sam’s posture and watched his brother while Dean finished eating. Scraping the last of the bland meal from his bowl he stood and joined Sam at the sink. Dean set his bowl down, wrapping his arms around Sam’s waist from behind and kissing the side of Sam’s neck, leaning into his back. “We’ll be fine, Sammy. We’ve had stuff come after us before, back before you even knew what was going on. I’ll take care of you, and I know you’ve got my back.”

Sam jumped a little, warm hands sliding around his waist. Leaning back into him, he closed his eyes, just concentrating on Dean’s body. His was breathing a little fast, fear still lurking in his gut. But then his brother spoke, reassured him, in that confident, soothing tone that he always used. And he felt a little better. “Dean…” he whispered, exposing his neck to his brother’s mouth. “I’m scared, De” he breathed, even though there was no way he didn’t know it already. His brother picked up his emotions so well it was almost scary.

“Yeah, I know Sammy.” Dean rested his forehead against Sam’s shoulder, sighing. Sometimes he wished he could go back to the days when Sam didn’t know about the things that lurked in the dark. Dean also wished that their Dad had actually filled Dean in on what he was hunting, but Dean had come to trust John’s authority without question. Their dad had had that look on his face that had made Dean bite his tongue, and Dean knew that he’d probably find out later what was going on. The look in their Dad’s eye had been enough to tell Dean that whatever this thing was, John hadn’t just left Dean behind to protect Sam, but to protect Dean as well. That was never a good sign. Dean brought his head up, kissing the side of Sam’s face. “We’ve got this. We’ll just grab a car and hot foot it straight to Bobby’s. Nothing can get us at Bobby’s. Surprised Dad didn’t leave us there in the first place.”

Sam leaned into those soft kisses, taking comfort in them. “You sure?” he asked, not really needing an answer. He could tell Dean meant it, and that he wasn’t scared. Sam was kind of lost in the feel of his brother now, the hard line of him pressed against his back. His gentle hands folded on his stomach, and his soft mouth on Sam’s cheek. “Dean… Dean if you don’t stop that I’m gonna get hard again, and we need to leave” he whispered, eyes closed, trying not to reach behind himself and grab Dean’s ass.

Dean laughed. He was extremely tempted to slide his hand down and jerk Sam off fast and dirty, but Sam had a point – they had to leave. With one last opened mouthed kiss to Sam’s neck Dean stepped back, moving around his brother to wash out the bowl and set it out to dry. Dean glanced at his watch. “Let’s try and be out of here in 15 minutes, so move your butt Sammy.”

Sam laughed too, trying to ignore the way that made Dean’s body vibrate against him. He made a little unhappy noise when he stepped away though, moving away from the sink so he could wash his bowl. Watching him for a moment, he then slapped his brother’s butt before quickly getting out of the kitchen, just in case Dean decided to return the favor.

Still grinning, he rummaged through his duffel and found clothes. After he’d pulled on underwear and jeans, he reached for his shirt, but then decided against it. Glancing over at Dean’s duffel, he giggled to himself before strolling over and searching through it, finding his Blue Oyster Cult shirt. Sam had bought it for him, and he’d worn it at least once a week since then. He probably didn’t even really like the band. It had just been because Sam bought it. Slipping it on, he admired the logo on the front, black, with a dark blue background.

“Hey!” Dean tried to retaliate but Sam had moved away before he could. Scowling, Dean marched to the bathroom and brushed his teeth before packing up his toiletry bag. He returned to the main room of the cabin, slowing as he spotted Sam in his bag. He watched as Sam put on his shirt, Dean rolling his eyes at the way Sam seemed to preen. “Okay fine, wear my shirt, just hurry up and pack.” Dean threw his toiletry bag into his duffel before pulling out clothing, giving them the sniff test. He winced. They were definitely going to need to do their laundry once they got to Bobby’s. Finding the most clean clothing, Dean pulled them on, making sure his pendant wasn’t caught up in his shirt.

Sam giggled at his brothers expressions, obviously not finding his clothes very appealing. Then his expression got a little more serious as he looked at Dean’s amulet. Never took it off. Striding over to his brother in about a second, he gripped his face on either side, and kissed the hell out of him. Parting his lips, he coaxed Dean’s open too, and explored his mouth with gusto. Sam pressed himself into his brother, still kissing him like there was no tomorrow. Hell, no next hour. Fingers threaded into Dean’s hair, gripping and needy, thoroughly committing it to memory, before he abruptly pulled off, leaving his brother was the most adorable expression of shock he’d ever seen. Zipping up his duffel, he threw it towards the door, before heading towards the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Dean blinked, mouth still slightly agape as Sam disappeared into the bathroom. “Oh-kay,” Dean said slowly, bringing his fingers up to touch his lips. He shot a look toward the bathroom and shook his head, then with a small huff Dean went about packing his bag. He put everything in its place – including his latest copy of Busty Asian Beauties – before zipping it up and throwing it across next to Sam’s. Dean then wandered around, packing away the cooking supplies into a cupboard and generally making it look like no one had been there aside from the note on the table. Once Dean was sure everything was done he slid his small knife into its spot in his boot and grabbed his handgun, checking the magazine before tucking it away. “You ready Sammy?”

Sam felt weird as he brushed his teeth, like he did when he was inbetween two mood swings, the high and low. He could tip towards happy and be totally fine, or he could tip the other way and fall down. He was a bit worried about the latter option. But he tried to ignore it, rinsing his mouth out and spitting. Grabbing the toothpaste as well as his toothbrush, he strolled out, casual as ever, and shoved them into his duffel. Shooting Dean a grin, he answered “was ready yesterday, Baby,” it seemed that he was tipping into the happy pool. That was just fine with him. But he would have to monitor himself, be careful, because his state was a little unstable right now. He could crack any second. Hoisting his bag up over his shoulder, he grabbed Dean’s hand and kissed him.

The corner of Dean’s lip twitched when Sam kissed him, Dean catching Sam’s chin with his free hand and holding him in place. Dean took revenge for the previous kiss, trying to suck the breath from Sam’s lungs. He ended the kiss by catching Sam’s lower lip between his teeth, tugging on it lightly before pulling back. “I’ll lock up,” Dean said, dropping Sam’s hand. “Check your weapon and make sure the coast is clear.”

Sam giggled and pawed at Dean’s chest with his free hand, holding on for the ride. Then he bit his lip, and was gone. Sam pouted, smile dropped when Dean let go of his hand. Still sulking, he pulled the gun from the back of his jeans, and circled around the shack. After about a minute, he came back around and gave his brother a huge grin, grabbing his hand and waltzing down the drive way (dirt). Sam was floating, floating on a cloud on top of the world. Some rational part of his brain recognized this, realized he was acting crazy, but he couldn’t stop it. This was just how Sam was. He had insane highs and lows; that was simply him. Humming merrily, he admired the trees around him, hand still absentmindedly locked with Dean’s.

Dean couldn’t help the eyeroll as he let Sam lead him by the hand. Locking up the cabin had been easy enough and he’d put the key back into its hiding place. Dean easily slipped back into alert mode, scanning their surroundings as they moved down the track. It was going to be a good hour walk to the roadhouse, and Dean wished he’d managed to convince their father to leave the Impala. He hated being away from his baby, but he knew their Dad would have put it somewhere safe. In fact, Dean wouldn’t be surprised if it was at Bobby’s. Be handy if it was because Dean really needed to give the Impala a service. Dean glanced sideways at Sam, amused by how Sam was acting. At least Dean now knew last night hadn’t been a one off thing.

Sam kept humming “Don’t fear the Reaper”, touching the front of his shirt every now and again. The sun looked so pretty filtering down through the trees, he could look at them forever. The minutes passed like seconds, and pretty soon they were almost there, Sam still grinning from ear to ear. “Dean I love you,” he announced, squeezing his hand a little bit, and pulling it to his chest. Pressing it against him, he then brought it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss onto the back of it.

Dean couldn’t get over the natural high his brother seemed to be on that morning. It was a nice change from the depression that Sam had been wallowing in the past month or longer, but Dean had a bad feeling that the high wouldn’t last. It never did. He gave Sam a tight lipped smile and a wink, squeezing Sam’s hand in reply before going back to watching their surroundings. This thing with their Dad’s hunt had him on edge. The sooner they got the Bobby’s the happier Dean would be.

Sam’s smile got even warmer when Dean squeezed his hand, going back to his admiration of the trees. They were so pretty. So was Dean. Sam was dying to get to Bobby’s, give him the biggest hug in the world. He just wanted to hug everyone he loved. Right now. All at the same time. After a little while, his cheeks started to hurt from smiling, but he couldn’t really stop…

The walk to the roadhouse was uneventful, much to Dean’s relief. As they came in sight of the building he was also pleased to see it surrounded by cars and trucks of different models and shapes, Dean running his gaze over them and smiling when he spotted a rusty old Mustang. It wasn’t in the best of shape, but it’d do for them. “Hope you don’t mind that we don’t go in,” Dean said, brushing his thumb across the back of the hand still entwined with his. “The less people who see us the less likely someone will recognize us.”

Sam nodded, answering “that’s fine, just want to get to Bobby’s”, smiling at Dean’s little touch. He still couldn’t wait, but he was coming down just a little, returning to himself a little. Sam was becoming a little more sane. Looking around, he saw absolutely no one, just cars and motorbikes. Perfect. “Which one are we gonna take?” he asked, looking up at his brother, admiring the pretty view.

Dean pointed toward the Mustang. “Three guesses.” Dean preferred older model cars. It wasn’t just because he had a preference for them personally, but because they didn’t have the alarm systems that most new model cars had. Not to mention no central locking. He stopped beside the Mustang, dropping Sam’s hand and searching his duffel for the correct tool. After a quick glance around he easily popped open the lock and opened the door. He slid inside, throwing his duffel into the back seat and unlocking Sam’s door. After another glance around Dean reached in under the steering wheel for the familiar set of wires and began the process of hot wiring the car.

Sam laughed, pretending to think about his first guess, before letting Dean get to work. Walking around to the other side of the car, he kept on the lookout for people or new cars, but it was all clear. “See, I called it! You never let me drive,” he announced, climbing into shotgun. Tossing his duffel behind him, it landed on the backseat perfectly, eliciting a triumphant grin from Sam. “De, hurry up! Wanna get to Bobby’s!” he urged, jumping up and down on his seat just a little bit.

 “I’ll drive the first leg, Sammy, you can take the second,” Dean said, grinning as the car started. “Besides, I’ve seen how you drive when you’re in the mood you’re currently in.” He shot Sam a quick look before he put the car into gear and drove them out onto the road. “I don’t mind flying with the angels in the bedroom, baby boy, but not in the car.” He paused and considered his comment. “Well, maybe in the back seat but not while we’re moving.”

Sam grinned, he loved driving. “What do you mean, ‘ _mood I’m in_ ’?” he protested, a little offended. Then Dean continued, and he raised his eyebrows, just staring at him. After a few moments, he looked out the window, sulking. There was nothing wrong with Sam. He was fine.

Noting the abrupt change in Sam’s mood Dean had to bite his tongue to keep from making a PMS comment. Dean chalked it up to the hormones in his 16-year-old brother. He sighed, shaking his head and glaring at the road for a little while. This was why Sam and Dad were always fighting, or at least one of the reasons. Dean knew the other was because Sam had never wanted to be a hunter. Shooting another look at Sam, Dean decided he couldn’t stand Sam in a bad mood about as much as he couldn’t stand him acting sugar high. Dean reached out and rested a hand on Sam’s thigh. “Hey, come on. No need to be like that.”

Sam just moved his squished his legs up against the door, moving his thigh from underneath Dean’s hand. “Don’t touch me,” he mumbled, still staring out the window, arms tightly wrapped around himself. Fine. If Dean didn’t want him to be affectionate, then he wouldn’t be. Sam was hurt, and he wasn’t going to stop sulking anytime soon. Pulling his legs up onto the seat, he folded himself into a ball, pressing against the warm metal of the door.

Dean stared at him for a long moment, retrieving his hand like he’d been burned. Dean set his jaw, anger beginning to creep into what had been a good mood. Coming to a decision Dean slammed on the brakes and pulled the car over onto the side of the road. He turned toward Sam, grabbing his shoulder and roughly dragging him away from the door to face him. “Don’t you dare start this shit with me, Sammy. Not after everything. You even THINK about closing me out and I’m going to make your life hell.”

Sam yelped, bracing his hands against the dashboard, car screeching to a stop. Then Dean’s hand was gripping him, and he was terrified, his brother’s when he was angry was one of the scariest things he’d seen. Sometimes it was scarier than the monsters they hunted. Then there was only silence, and he ripped the door open, yanking free from his brother’s grip. Sam set off in a dead sprint, leaving the door hanging open as he made his way into the forest on the side of the road. Quickly making his way through the trees and ferns, he felt tears running down his cheeks. His vision was blurring, and sobbing noises came out in between heavy breaths.

 “Dammit!” Dean checked his gun just in case, then took off after Sam and prayed the car would still be there when they got back. It was easy enough to track Sam through the forest, Dean slowing as he heard the crying. He sighed heavily, running a hand over his face and biting back his frustration. God he hoped Bobby would be able to help Sam with his depression. Dean punched a tree, wincing slightly as he felt something in his hand crack. He let out a shuddering breath, slowly making his way through the foliage toward where Sam was, knowing Sam would sense him.

Sam slowed to a stop, glancing around to check for Dean. When he saw no one, he sank to the ground, curling into a ball and rocking back and forth, sobs muffled by his knees. His fingernails dug into his legs where they were clutching them tight, face tucking into himself. Then he lost it. Digging into his skin harder, he started screaming.

Hearing the scream Dean quickened his pace, hand coming to rest on the butt of his gun. He tried to ignore the twinge of pain in his fingers as he hurried through the forest and slowed as he saw Sam. A sense of relief flooded him as he saw that Sam wasn’t in any danger, although something inside Dean was breaking at the sound. He chewed his lip, moving toward Sam and kneeling by him. Dean hesitated, not knowing what to do. He wanted desperately to pull Sam into his arms, but he knew that when Sam was like this doing that would end up with a fist in Dean’s jaw.

 “GO AWAY” he screamed, feeling the heat of Dean’s body next to him. Sam didn’t look up, he just kept on screaming, head tucked into himself. He screamed like someone was carving their signature into his spleen. Sam’s nails scraped along the tops of his arms now, sliding up into his hair. Gripping it and pulling, his entire body was tensed up, eyes closed. He didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to see anything. It was all disgusting and cruel, he wanted it gone, he wanted to be gone.

Dean watched Sam, feeling tears in his own eyes at the sense of helplessness swept through him. Dean fought the urge to grab his phone and call their Dad – what could John do for them right now? He chewed on his thumb nail, staring at Sam as he tried to figure out what to do. He cast his gaze around, making sure that they were still safe as he fell back into a sitting position, simply waiting for Sam to get it out of his system. That was all Dean knew he could do.

Sam kept screaming as loud as he could for a few more minutes, practically one endless scream. But slowly they died down into quiet sobs, and he simply sat there, crying, arms still wrapped around himself tightly. He did this a lot, he’d just never let anyone see. After another minute or two, he abruptly got up, and started walking back to the car, staring at the soft ground beneath his feet. He heard Dean’s steps behind him, but hardly even noticed. Reaching the car, Sam wordlessly got back in the backseat, pushing away the duffels, and resumed his position from before, on the opposite side of the car from Dean. He simply waited, staring blankly out the window.

Dean watched as Sam stood and began walking back to the car, Dean closing his eyes for a moment and brushing away the tears that had collected in them. He hated it when Sam was hurting. He couldn’t stand it. The worst thing was that he couldn’t just go out and kill whatever it was that was causing the pain. He pushed himself up, following Sam and watching as his brother climbed into the back seat. Dean stopped, gritting his teeth and wanting to scream in frustration himself. Shaking his head Dean opened the door opposite Sam and climbed in beside him. He sat, staring down at his hands. He noticed for the first time the faint swelling and cursed inwardly – he’d probably redone an old fracture. He relished the pain though as it meant he was alive. Plus, now he was hurting. It was only fair that he hurt when Sam did. Dean flattened his palms on his knees, just sitting and waiting for Sam to say something.

Sam didn’t speak. He didn’t move, hardly even breathed or blinked. There was just nothing. Nothing left in him at all. The poison was still sitting in his duffel, forgotten from last night, but he hardly even thought about it. Just thought about how ugly everything outside was. Disgusting, damp earth and filthy animals, all made worse by a sweltering heat coming down through the trees. Sam didn’t make a sound, or give any sign that he was alive. He simply continued to stare outside with a blank expression, like there was no one home at all. He didn’t wait impatiently for Dean to drive, he didn’t notice the silence. There was nothing there.

Dean glanced quickly at Sam, uncomfortable with the silence. Dean wanted desperately to break it, but knew better than that. He wanted to pull Sam into his arms but knew it would make the situation worse. Touching Sam would make it worse. Everything Dean wanted to do, everything Dean had done in the past when Sam was like this, didn’t work anymore. It had been so much simpler when Sam had been little, back before Sam knew how bad the world really was. Dean which he could give Sam back his innocence, and still blamed himself for Sam learning about what was real. He should have made sure Sam hadn’t been able to find Dad’s journal; should have just brushed off the writings in it as Dad making up stories. Dean should have just lied. Dean glared down at his injured hand, brushing the thumb of his good hand over the area and finding where the fracture most likely was and pushed on it, relishing the pain he deserved.

Sam just kept on staring. His fingertips felt cold and numb, even though it was way too hot outside. Slowly, so slowly, emotions began thawing his brain, just a tiny bit. Just enough for him to feel slightly impatient by the fact that they weren’t driving. “Drive” he said, a little annoyed. The rest of him was filled with hate. So much hate that it simply crossed over into nothing. There was too much hate to express, so it simply became a part of his bones. 

Dean glanced up at Sam’s command, noting the anger in his voice. Dean set his jaw, shaking his head. “I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re okay, man.” Dean’s hand spasmed slightly from the pain he was inflicting on it, Dean fighting to keep it from showing on his face. Sam didn’t need to know. Dean watched Sam’s face, wishing he’d turn so that he could read those beautiful eyes.

Still staring out the window, he said again “ ** _DRIVE. THE CAR. DEAN._** ” making it very clear that he was not okay, but there was no way in hell he was talking to his brother about it. He wanted to get to Bobby’s. Right now. Sam felt Dean’s eyes on him, but pointedly kept staring at the exact same spot outside, filled with revulsion at the innocent tree. 

Dean pressed down harder on his hand, feeling the spasm now shoot up his arm. He gritted his teeth, eyes not leaving the back of Sam’s head. He wanted to break something, and he didn’t care if that something was his hand right now. “No,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Sam was silent for a moment, not moving, so filled with hate and frustration that he didn’t know what to do with it. Then he snapped, suddenly moving. Reaching over, he dragged the duffel across the seat to him, ripping it open and frantically ripping through its contents. Then he found it. Found what he needed. The rat poison. Quickly unscrewing the lid, he poured as many of the big blue pellets into his cupped hand as he could, before bringing them up this mouth. Dean didn’t like him being happy? Didn’t like Sam touching him? Telling him he loved him? Fine. He didn’t need him around then.

Dean watched Sam reach for his duffel, unsure what he was doing. Once he realized, Dean felt a sense of panic as he reached out and grabbed Sam’s arm, jerking it away from his mouth. “Don’t you fucking dare!” he hissed, unable to hide the pain that was shooting through his arm from his voice. He pinned Sam against the seat, staring at him. Dean could feel a mix of anguish and panic wash through him as he tried to keep Sam trapped, a feat made hard by the now agonized pain in his hand.

Sam growled, fighting Dean’s grip. “ _LIKE YOU CARE_ ” he yelled, right in his face. His brother was on top of him, pinning him to the seat, but he still tried to rip his way free, taking any opportunity he could get. There were none. “ _YOU WANT ME DEAD, HUH? THAT WHY YOU WON’T LET ME SEE BOBBY_?” he screamed, bright blue pellets spilling in between his fingers, raining down on the aged leather seat. Sam didn’t notice Dean wince, just kept struggling, anger and hate bubbling over. 

 “What the HELL are you talking about!?” Dean said, gritting his teeth as he fought the pain. Sam was out of control. Dean had known things were getting bad, but he never knew just HOW bad. “Sam, I’d DIE for you. I’d die myself before I let anything happen to you.” He ignored a kick to the leg, instead tightening his grip on Sam. “And we’ll get to Bobby’s as soon as you calm down.” He growled. “Don’t make me restrain you, Sam, because so help me God I will if you keep this shit up.”

 “ _TAKE ME TO BOBBY’S,_ ” he screamed, not meeting Dean’s eyes. He just wanted to get to Bobby’s house. Just wanted to see him, but his brother was being so difficult. Sam didn’t understand why he couldn’t just drive the god damn car. Tears were gathering in his eyes, and he kept struggling, trying to get his brother off him. He was slowly just breaking, tears just spilling down his cheeks. Sam just wanted to get to Bobby’s. He needed to, so bad,

“Sorry Sammy,” Dean said, grabbing his brother and pulling him back against his chest, wrapping his arm around Sam’s throat. It was clear Sam wasn’t going to calm down, and Dean knew if they were going to get anywhere he was going to need to restrain his brother. Before he could do that he needed Sam unconscious. He held onto his struggling brother, choking him. Dean could feel the tears on his face. He hated this. “I’m so sorry.”

All of a sudden he couldn’t breathe, Dean’s arm was wrapped around his neck. He wanted to scream; he thought his brother was trying to kill him. Sam hardly even had time for the shock and terror to set in, before his vision started to dim, and he couldn’t struggle so hard anymore. Within just a minute or two, he couldn’t keep his eyes open, and he was pliant and limp in Dean’s hands. Sam sunk into the black fog.

When Dean felt Sam go limp in his arms he waited a few seconds until he was sure Sam was unconscious. He let his arm move from around Sam’s neck and pulled Sam to him, crying into Sam’s hair. He sat there for a long time, muttering apologies and words of love before he shifted and stepped out of the car. He came around, opening the door and pulling Sam’s unconscious form out of the back seat, carrying him to the front passenger and carefully putting him inside. Dean then checked the Mustang’s trunk and was relieved to find some rope.   
  
He carefully tied Sam to the seat, making sure it was not too tight but tight enough that Sam wouldn’t be able to escape. Dean did another check, retrieving Sam’s knife and tucking it into his duffel. Once Sam was restrained Dean sought out the rat poison, throwing the container as far into the forest as he could. He cleaned the pellets from the back seat before closing up the doors of the car. Dean returned to the driver’s seat, closing the door and slumping.   
  
He let out a shuddering breath, reaching out toward Sam and carefully brushing the hair back from Sam’s face. “I’m sorry, Sammy. I had to do it.” Dean wiped the tears from his face and restarted the car, flooring it. Screw the speed limits – he needed to get to Bobby’s as soon as possible. He ignored the pain in his hand as it tried to seize up on him. What mattered was getting Sam help.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam’s nose itched, “ugh” he mumbled, reaching up to scratch it. Except he couldn’t. What? Opening his eyes, he looked down at himself, and saw rope. “What the hell?” he muttered, but then everything came back to him. Dean had choked him. Tried to kill him. Sam’s brain literally could not process that, he just stared at his hands folded in his lap. He had no idea how long they had been driving, but hoped they were nearly there. Sam didn’t speak, just stared, like before they had ever stopped.

Dean glanced to the side, noting the slight nose twitch before Sam opened his eyes. Dean didn’t lift his foot from the accelerator. Since tying up Sam he had only stopped once and that had been for gas. They were making good time, Dean pushing the Mustang and surprised by how well it had done despite looking like a rust bucket.   
  
“We’re about three hours away,” Dean said, looking out into the darkness. At least at this speed whatever was out there couldn’t get them. Dean had long since stopped crying, but his hand had managed to seize up causing him to drive one handed. He could still manage to change gears but he tried to avoid it. He rested the swollen hand in his lap, fingers sitting at weird angles.  
  
“I’m sorry, Sam,” Dean said softly. “You tried to kill yourself, man. I had to restrain you, and I had to knock you out to do that.” Dean shook his head, biting his lip. “I just… I had no choice.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Sam whispered, leaning back against the headrest. At least he couldn’t see his brother very well. He didn’t want to be here, let alone next to Dean. “Why don’t you want me to be happy Dean,” he whispered, closing his eyes. Sam had been so happy this morning, better than ever. Apparently that was annoying. 

“What?” Dean glanced sideways at him, staring at him for a long moment before returning his attention to the road. “What gave you that idea?” Dean couldn’t work Sam out. It was like being with some of the girls Dean had dated when he was still at school – he had never worked them out either and had eventually given up trying. He’d never expected this from his brother.

“You said I was annoying” he whispered, hanging his head now. “Then yelled at me. Hurt me” he finished, wanting to curl up in a ball, but a certain someone had prevented him from doing that. 

“Sammy, I said your acting sugar high was annoying. I didn’t say anything about you being happy was annoying.” Dean scowled, trying to flex the muscles in his bad hand and cringing. “Hell, you say the same thing about me when I act that way. In fact, last time I did you tried to smother me with a cushion.” Dean shook his head, the frustration returning. If he could go any faster he would have, but he was already pushing the car to its limit. “What the hell were you thinking, Sammy, trying to kill yourself like that. You told me you were going to destroy the rat poison. Why the hell was it still in your bag?”

 “That’s me happy” he insisted, just wanting to punch Dean in the face right now. And he would have. If his dickhead of a brother hadn’t tied his hands to his god damn thighs. “I haven’t felt that good in months. And you’re a freaking dick, Dean. Fucked it up for me,” he said, look at him for the first time. Sam avoided the poison question, not bothering to explain right now. The second his idiot of a brother let him go, he was going to punch him, then run to Bobby and not talk to Dean. For how long? He didn’t know. But his brother had better do some damn-good groveling and apologizing.

“I’ve seen you happy, Sam. That wasn’t happy. That was high.” Dean shook his head, resisting the urge to punch Sam. He would have if he hadn’t broken his God damned hand. Yes, it was definitely broken now. Mind you, he deserved it. When they got to Bobby’s Dean would let Sam take a swing at him and hoped his brother broke his nose too. Just so long as he didn’t knock any teeth out, otherwise it would sting when Dean drunk Bobby’s entire liquor cabinet. God he needed a drink. “Shit Sam, why do you do this, man? Why can’t you think of someone other than yourself for once in your life?”

Sam was literally so angry he was shaking, mouth gaping open and closed, not knowing what even the hell to say to that. So he simply didn’t. His brother was being mean and stupid, so he simply decided that he was going to sleep until he got to Bobby’s. 

Dean let out a sound of frustration at he saw Sam shut his eyes, effectively ending the conversation. “Selfish bitch,” he growled, punching the wheel with his good hand. He growled, shaking his head as he kept quiet for the rest of the drive. He continued to throw sideways looks at Sam, his thoughts going between wanting to strangle Sam to wanting to just hold him. Dean’s eyes still itched from crying and the lack of sleep combined with the long drive wasn’t helping. He felt a sense of relief as they approached Sioux Falls, Dean wondering if perhaps they should have called ahead. When they were 10 miles out he finally broke his silence. “Nearly there, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t hear him, fast asleep. His dreams were weird, confusing, and dark. They kept getting worse; churning black fog just kept creeping in from the edges, filling it up.

The silence worried Dean, and he could tell from the look on Sam’s face the nightmares were back. He wished Sam would tell him when they had started, but when he had questioned Sam a few times all he’d gotten was the subject changed on him. Given their lives, the nightmares didn’t really surprise Dean. He’d had more than his fair share himself.  
  
Turning off the main road he finally reduced speed as they came in view of the familiar junk yard. Dean checked his watch, wincing at the early morning hour but knew Bobby would get up once he heard the car. Sure enough Dean spotted a familiar figure on the porch as he pulled up, noting the shotgun in Bobby’s hands. Dean turned the engine off, opening the door and climbing out.   
  
“Hey Uncle Bobby. Need your help, man.”  
  
“Thought I told you to stop calling me Uncle,” Bobby said, moving down the stairs. Dean saw Bobby’s eyes run over him, narrowing. “What the hell have you done to your hand?” He saw Bobby’s eyes then turn to the car. “And why the hell is your brother tied up?”  
  
Dean shook his head, moving over to Bobby’s side and dropping his voice so only Bobby could hear. “Sam tried to kill himself, Bobby. I was hoping you could talk to him.”  
  
Bobby just looked at him before heading over to the car.

Blinking, he felt hands on him, trying to gently nudge him awake. Looking down, he moved his fingers, glad to be free. Then his eyes followed the hands up, and saw… “BOBBY!” he yelled, practically leaping at him, wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his face into the curve of his shoulder. Grinning into his jacket, he breathed in the smell of Bobby, whiskey like Dean, but old spice instead of apples. Perfect. Bobby waited a moment before literally just picking him up and taking him inside, realizing that Sam wasn’t going to let go anytime soon.

Dean watched as Bobby picked Sam up, Dean moving ahead of them so he could hold the door open for Bobby to get Sam inside. Dean returned to the car, grabbing their bags from the back and bringing them inside, mindful of his bad hand. He dropped the bags into the hall, relocking the front door and checking the salt line. Dean listened in to Bobby and Sam as Dean found an ice pack for his hand.

Sam let Bobby sit him down on the couch, while he left for a minute into the kitchen. Sam just sat there smiling, looking around the living room. Then Bobby returned with a hot chocolate and a bowl of stew. Figures. Laughing, he reasoned “you know I don’t always need feeding 24/7,” in an amused tone, but took the cup from him anyway. He would eat soon. Blowing across the surface of the liquid, he sunk into the mass of over-used pillows that were clumped together on the couch. Bobby looked a little… Shocked, or concerned, he couldn’t tell. Maybe both. “Uncle Bobby… What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning across the top of his mug. Bobby just stared at his hands in his lap for a while, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket. “How have you been lately, son?” he finally asked, voice gruff as ever. Sam just automatically answered “fine” with a grin, and returned the question.

Dean had nodded his thanks to Bobby as the elder man had placed a bowl of stew in front of him, and cringed at Bobby’s “don’t think you’re getting out of anything, boy,” before Bobby had headed into the lounge. Dean seated himself at the table, fumbling with the fork. He cursed himself for injuring his right hand. He inspected the break – felt clean. He’d just need to strap it up for a couple of weeks and it should be fine. He’d hurt it worse. He shifted from the seat, heading for the fridge and retrieving himself a beer. He went to open it with his ring only to realize he couldn’t. Rolling his eyes at himself, he used the edge of the table instead.

Sam just kept smiling, while Bobby grew even more nervous, not looking away from his hands. “Sam… I don’t think you’re tellin’ me the truth, see, because your brother said that you tried to, uh…” he cleared his throat “kill yourself”. Those last two words came out quiet, like he could hardly believe they were coming out of his mouth.

Sam wen’t cold. So he just started talking, ranting “Yeah well he shouldn’t have been such a freaking douchebag, and told me that I was annoying just ‘cause I was happy. I’m allowed to be happy! I’m allowed to want to talk and be nice to people and hold people’s hands-” he cut that bit off, almost saying too much “Then he gets all angry ‘cause I’m pissed. I have every right! And he just stops the car, grabs my shoulder, and yells at me like I’ve just hit him or something”. Sam was tearing up a little now, absentmindedly putting the mug on the coffee table. “It hurt. So I ran. I didn’t want him to hurt me more” he whispered, before continuing “then we’re back in the car and he won’t drive. Won’t go fucking  _anywhere._ Just sits there! So I… I tried,” he assumes Bobby will understand what he’s trying to say “and he just pins me down” tears are running down his cheeks now “pins me down and won’t get off. Then he… Then he choked me, Bobby. He choked me…” he finishes, sobbing quietly for a second before curling into a ball, burying himself into the mass of cushions.

Dean strained to listen in on what they were saying, but they were talking too softly. He scowled, taking a long drink from his beer and poking at his food. He was exhausted. Between the long drive, the crying, the fighting with Sam and the stress of staying lookout for whatever their Dad thought was after them Dean was a mess. He could feel the adrenaline starting to wear off, but he focused on eating to sate his appetite. He ran a hand over his eyes, forcing the food down as it tried to stick to his throat. He readjusted the ice pack on his hand and took another swig from the bottle.

Bobby was silent for a minute or two, before reaching over and pulling Sam to him, pressing him to his chest. Sam instantly gripped onto him, sobbing into his shirt, so loud that Dean could probably hear from the other room. “Bobby” he whispered, face drowning in plaid shirts.

“Sam it’s okay, just ssshh, try to calm down. It’s okay. I’ve got you” the older man said, cautiously rubbing his back. Sam tried to listen to him, calm down, control his breathing. And after a minute it worked, breathing returning to normal. From above him, he heard “that god damn boy…” feeling it rumble in his chest.

Dean heard Sam crying and paused as he was lifting another mouthful of stew to his mouth. He frowned, feeling the usual ache in his heart that he got whenever Sam was upset. Dean forced it down, managing to eat half of the stew. He drained the last of the beer, scowling at the bottle and turning and heading for the fridge to retrieve another.

Sam slowly let go of Bobby, wiping his cheeks with his shirt. Then he remembered what he was wearing, stood up, and yanked it off, dropping it to the floor. Staring down at the crumpled blue heap for a moment, he felt Bobby’s hand on his shoulder, just gentle.

“Come on Sam, let’s get you to bed. We can talk tomorrow, okay?” he convinced him, guiding him up the stairs. Bobby opened the door to the spare bedroom that had always been his and Dean’s, with a queen bed in it. They’d always had to share, and he’d spent a lot of uncomfortable, sexually frustrating nights tucked up in there with him. Sam just hoped that he would be asleep before Dean went to bed tonight, and that his brother stayed far on his side of the bed. Bobby tucked him in carefully, obviously making sure that he wasn’t going to do anything silly, and subtly removed all sharp objects from the room and the bathroom that connected to it.

“I’ll be okay Bobby” Sam reassured, pulling the covers up and giving a soft, broken smile from the bed.

 

* * *

 

Dean managed to finish his stew and was halfway through his second beer when he heard Bobby come into the kitchen. Dean didn’t comment, listening as Bobby opened the fridge behind him. A sharp pain across the back of the head caused Dean to yelp, staring up at Bobby in shock and not quiet believing the elder man had just smacked him across the back of the head. Hard. “What the fuck was that for?”  
  
“For choking your damned brother, you idjit.” Bobby sat down heavily in the seat across from him, a stern look on his face. “Now care to explain to me what you did to your hand?”  
  
Dean glared at him for a long moment, unconsciously flexing the fingers on the injured hand and wincing. “Broke it.”  
  
“How?”

“Punched a tree.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Dean scowled. “What is this? Twenty questions?”  
  
Bobby glared at him. “Just answer the damned question.”  
  
“Because of Sam, all right?” Dean stared down at his beer, letting out a shaky breath. “I don’t know, Uncle Bobby. He’s sunk deeper than I thought he had.”  
  
Bobby narrowed his eyes. “So you decided to strangle it out of him?”  
  
“What? No!” Dean set his beer down, leaning back in his seat. “He’d lost it. He was ranting and screaming and fighting. Then next thing I knew he’d grabbed the rat poison and was trying to swallow it. I had to restrain him or he would have done something to hurt himself.”  
  
Bobby sighed, and Dean could almost hear the ‘idjit’. “Sam thinks you tried to kill him.”  
  
Dean felt a rock form in the pit of his stomach. “I’d never…”  
  
“I know that.” Bobby reached across, resting a hand on Dean’s good arm. “His head’s not in the right place, and from the looks of it yours isn’t either. The two of you have a lot to sort out, but right now you get to bed. We’ll deal with it in the morning.”  
  
Dean nodded. “About Dad…”  
  
“We’ll deal with that in the morning too,” Bobby said, standing.  
  
“Okay.” Dean chewed his lower lip. “Um… you don’t mind if I crash on the couch, do you?”  
  
Bobby’s eyebrows rose. “”And what’s wrong with sharing with your brother?”  
  
Dean averted his eyes. “Probably not the best idea at the moment.”  
  
Bobby let out a heavy sigh and rolled his eyes. “Fine! I’ll get you some blankets.”  
  
“Thanks Uncle Bobby.”  
  
“Oh for God’s sake, you’re 20. Stop calling me Uncle.”


	3. Chapter 3

There was sunshine across his eyes, warm blankets wrapped around him, and the distant sound of someone frying something on a stove top. Bobby. Smiling lazily, he blinked a few times up at the ceiling, before slowly rolling out of bed. Sam made sure to keep Dean completely out of his mind as he walked down the stairs shirtless, never having put another one on last night, and not seeing his duffel anywhere around his room.

Strolling into the kitchen, he spotted Bobby standing with a frying pan full of bacon, and Dean sitting at the table, though he tried to ignore the second person. “Hey Uncle Bobby” he said, still smiling as he peeped over his shoulder at what he was cooking.

“Get out of, you nosy thing!” came the gruff reply, but it was followed by a chuckle, so Sam was in the clear.

Sam wandered around the living room, searching for his duffel until he found it sitting on the bottom step of the stairs. He’d walked straight past it. Finding a Pink Floyd T-shirt, he pulled it on and made his way back into the kitchen, plonking down across the table from Dean, completely ignoring his existence. He simply watched Bobby serve up plates, casually spreading his legs under the table like it was a normal visit to Bobby’s.

Dean was exhausted. He’s spent most of the night on the couch, listening to the noises outside. All he could think about was Sam. His mind had drifted back and forth from the amazing feeling of kissing Sam and being able to show how much he loved him, to the pain of Sam fighting him and Dean strangling him unconscious, to the horror of Sam trying to take his own life. When Dean had slept it had been one nightmare after another, Dean waking in a cold sweat. His hand ached where it was tightly bandaged, and Dean knew he probably looked like hell. He’d managed to make it to the table when Bobby had gotten up, Bobby filling him in on what the other hunters had been up to. Dean had been particularly interested by the werewolf Caleb had been tracking, and Bobby had been filling him in when Sam had entered.  
  
Dean watched his brother, noting that Sam was making a point of ignoring him. Dean set his jaw, shooting Sam a glare before returning his attention to Bobby. “So did he ever find the thing?”  
  
“Haven’t heard back from him yet,” Bobby said, bringing the pan over to serve up the bacon. “Last I heard Caleb thought the werewolf might just be a victim and there might actually be another one running around the town.”

Sam frowned, not liking the sound of that. Watching Bobby set a plate down in front of him, and slide a pile of bacon onto it, he suddenly felt a little ill. He could see the grease all over it. “Hey, uh, Uncle Bobby? I’m not feeling the bacon so much, do you want mine?” he asked, just as the older man dropped a piece of toast on his plate followed by two poached eggs. Bobby raised an eyebrow, but dropped the boy’s bacon onto his own plate like he was asked, before giving some to Dean too.

Sam felt good today. So much shit had happened that he didn’t even know which thing to pick to start being emotionally damaged by. So he simply didn’t, he just shut it all out. He ate his eggs, but left most of the toast as it wasn’t brown bread. Followed by orange juice, one of the four bottles in the fridge. Bobby liked his O-J, apparently. Leaning back in his chair, he folded his legs up on the seat, crossing them like they make you do in primary school. Gazing out the kitchen window, painted sunshine yellow, he looked over the car lot, covered in bits of shiny and rusted metal. Sam made a small hum in the back of his throat, remembering playing his and seek with Dean when he was little, hiding behind one of those bigger pieces. 

Dean made short work of his bacon. After having been stuck eating oatmeal for so long it was like little pieces of heaven. Dean had always had a fondness for Bobby’s cooking, and as far as Dean was concerned the more grease the better. Finishing off his meal, Dean thought for a moment before coming to a decision.   
  
“Uncle Bobby, do you know what Dad was hunting?”  
  
Bobby paused midstep, glancing back at him before continuing on his way to put his plate in the sink. “Yeah. But I’m not telling you.”  
  
Dean frowned. “Any particular reason why?”

“It’s nothing for you boys to worry about.”

Sam wasn’t listening to their conversation, too caught up in old memories from this place. That was back when he was just happy without complications, a child without fears or problems. Back when he wasn’t sitting across a table from someone that had tried to choke the life of him. His own brother, just to add to the fun that was his life. “I’m gonna go outside, okay? I’ll be back” he announced, half to Bobby but mostly to himself.

Pushing away from the table, he rinsed his plate, then found his way outside. He knew the two men in the kitchen could see him from where they were, but tried to ignore that. Closing his eyes, he stood on the front porch and felt the sun on his face, trying to remember what it had felt like to be a kid, how he would have felt right now. Taking deep breaths, he couldn’t feel a thing. So, defeated, his slid down to the ground, where he sat, curled up in a ball, chin resting on his knees while he gazed out at the junkyard.

 “Nothing to worry about?” Dean set his knife and fork down. “Dad stashed us in the middle of nowhere and took the Impala so we couldn’t leave. He hid us. I’d say that’s something to worry about.”  
  
“Yeah, but not for YOU to worry about. Your daddy’s got it handled.” Bobby retrieved Sam’s plate, to put in the sink. “Speaking of your daddy, I called him this morning.”  
  
Dean cringed. “What he say?”  
  
“He wasn’t exactly pleased, but he understood when I explained you boys needed to talk to someone.” Bobby glanced out the window.   
  
Dean watched him. “How’s Sam?”  
  
Bobby grunted, stepping toward the door. “You’re on wash up duty, boy.”  
  
“Oh come on!” Dean whined.

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry Uncle Bobby,” he whispered, still looking out onto the lawn. There was one frame of a truck sitting out there, just a scrap piece of metal, half painted gold and blue, the other half black and red. Bobby had come home with paints one day, and told him and Dean to go nuts, using that old frame as their canvas. They had listened. They’d even engraved their initials into the bottom, D.W, S.W ( _ ~~SUCKS~~_ ). 

Dean grumbled as he did the dishes, wondering if Bobby remembered he was down one hand. No doubt he did – Bobby would have told him to just suck it up and stop bitching. Dean managed to keep the bandage from getting wet as he cleaned the dishes, the pain in his hand worse than it had been the day before.  
  
As Dean dried everything it put it all away he flexed his fingers, frowning. The break wasn’t a bad one. It was more annoying than anything. It was the same place Dean had broken it earlier that year during a ghost hunt after he found himself being closely acquainted with a wall.  
  
Dean glanced out the window, noting that Bobby and Sam were talking. Dean decided against joining them and instead reached for a beer. It was never too early to start, and after recent events he sure needed it.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know,” he finally said, voice hardly audible. They sat there together for a while, looking at the morning sun lighting everything up. It was about nine AM, so it wasn’t too hot yet. Then Bobby turned to him, scootching a little closer.

“Sam… Why don’t you tell me. Tell me how you got like this, huh? What went wrong” he asked, putting a hand on his shoulder “and… I mean I know you and Dean aren’t exactly friendly right now - _that god damn idiot of a boy-_ but maybe you could let him know? Just… I’m sure he’d want to hear it,” he finished.

Sam frowned, “he doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to hear anything. He just wants me to shut up and leave him alone” he insisted, “Bobby… Bobby I think he hates me. He tried to kill me. Dean doesn’t want me around anymore. Doesn’t like it when I’m happy, hold his hand” that last bit came out quiet and hurt, Sam feeling that familiar ache in his chest. Why couldn’t Dean just love him? Want him to be happy?

Bobby looked at him curiously, like he had said something really odd. Sam had just said the truth… He didn’t understand what was wrong. After a few more confused moments, Bobby got up and marched inside, probably going to find Dean. His expression didn’t look so friendly…

 

* * *

 

  
“Hold his hand?” Bobby asked, stepping into the lounge.  
  
Dean shrugged. “I didn’t mind.”  
  
“What are you both? Three?” Bobby looked down at the beer in Dean’s hand. “It’s 9am.”  
  
Dean blinked. “Your point?”  
  
Bobby gave him a disapproving look, shaking his head as he began to pace. “Did you tell Sam to shut up when he tried to talk to you?”  
  
“No, I told Sam to tell me what was wrong so I could fix it,” Dean replied. “He told ME to go away because I couldn’t.”  
  
“Oh this is just…” Bobby let out a frustrated sound. “Why can’t you two just sort your own shit out for once.”  
  
“I’ve tried!” Dean leaned forward, pointing toward the door where he knew Sam was outside. “He’s pretty much convinced himself that I hate him so that he can shut me out. I’ve tried talking to him, holding down, yelling at him, just listening, but nothing I do will convince him that I lo-” Dean cut himself off as he realized where he was going.  
  
Bobby’s eyes narrowed. “That you what?”  
  
Dean shook his head, leaning back in couch and bringing the bottle to his lips. “Doesn’t matter.”

Sam only heard about half of the conversation, only the loudest handful of words. he caught a few scattered words from Bobby, and most of Dean’s words. Scoffing loud enough for his brother to hear, he lay down on his side, still curled into a ball. “You said I was annoying! You wouldn’t take me to Bobby’s! Then you try to kill me! What the hell else am I supposed to gather from that apart from the obvious, Dean? You hate me” he yelled. Sam tried to push all the memories out of his head, even as he spoke them aloud. Lying there for a moment, he replayed the last words his brother had exclaimed, ‘ _but nothing I do will convince him that I lo-_ ’ then he cut off. He was going to say ‘ _love_ ’, wasn’t he? Hah! Sure, whatever.

Dean growled, fingers tightening on his beer as he gave Bobby a pointed look. Bobby sighed, rubbing his temples.   
  
“I didn’t try and kill you, Sam!” Dean shouted back. “YOU tried to kill YOU. I had to knock you out so that you wouldn’t hurt yourself!” Dean set his jaw, fuming as he felt the tears of frustration burn in his eyes. He took another long drink, draining the bottle. He glared at it before heading for the fridge for another.  
  
“Dean…” Bobby warned.  
  
Dean shot him a glare, popping the cap off the new bottle and taking a long swig.

 “BECAUSE YOU REFUSED TO DRIVE ME TO BOBBY’S” he yelled back, much much louder than the last one. 

He just wanted to march in there and punch Dean in the face. God. Sam would have calmed down if his brother had just stopped holding him prisoner in the car, and just started driving. He just wanted to get to Bobby’s. 

Rolling onto his back, he raked his nails down his face in anger, probably leaving angry pink lines down the front. He didn’t break the skin though, he was unattractive already.

 “I wasn’t driving you anywhere until I could be sure you weren’t going to hurt yourself!” Dean shouted back. “And I got you here, didn’t I?”  
  
“Okay, that’s it.” Bobby let out a frustrated sigh. “Sam, get in here and stop yelling at your brother. Dean, put the beer down. Getting drunk isn’t going to make this go away.”  
  
“Sure damned helps,” Dean muttered.  
  
Bobby turned to glare at him. “Dean!”

“Fine!” Dean took another long drink, feeling Bobby’s eyes on him. Dean put the bottle back in the fridge.

“NO!” Sam yelled, folding his arms over his face. “He never even apologized for being a dick in the first place!” Sam wasn’t going anywhere. “I am staying on this deck until Hell gets turned into an expensive ski resort for tourists!” he called out again “or Dean says sorry for being a dick! Let alone trying to kill me!” 

He didn’t object to the death part, but did object to the Dean killing him part. That was not a nice way to go. 

“You know what, screw this.” Dean snatched a familiar set of keys from the key rack, slamming out the front door.  
  
“DEAN!” Bobby called.  
  
Dean stalked straight passed Sam, ignoring him as he headed toward the tarpaulin covered car near the side of the house that he’d spotted when they’d arrived. He pulled the cover off the Impala, unlocking the door.  
  
“Don’t you dare drive off!” Bobby yelled.  
  
“I’m not staying here while Sam tries to convince himself that no one gives a shit about him so he can justify killing himself.” Dean shouted back, opening the door.

“I’M NOT TRYING TO CONVINCE MYSELF ANYTHING. I’M TELLING THE TRUTH. AND YOU’RE PROVING IT RIGHT NOW, JUST LEAVING, NOT EVEN SAYING ANYTHING” he yelled, anger bubbling up his chest “YOU DON’T CARE”. Sam was clutching at his face again, almost breaking the skin. Quickly raking his hands down to the tops of his arms, he dug his fingernails in, trying to let out the rage. All he succeeded in doing was making himself bleed. “IT’S BECAUSE I’M UGLY ISN’T IT? UGLY AND FAT,” he finished, having to curl into a ball to relieve tension. Sam gripped his knees and tensed his entire body, hiding his face. He vaguely sensed Bobby at the door near him, as he silently screamed into the dark space between his torso and thighs.

“That’s exactly what I mean!” Dean said, pointing an accusing finger at Sam. “Making shit up! You don’t care what people really think. Fuck, you don’t even want to HEAR what people think. I could sit here all day telling you how much I care about you and you wouldn’t even hear a word of it!”  
  
Bobby kept his mouth shut, watching the boys. He moved down the steps slowly, caught between wanting to stop Sam hurting himself and getting the keys away from Dean.

“Because you HAVENT, DEAN. YOU HAVEN’T TOLD ME. BECAUSE YOU’RE TOO UP YOURSELF OR WHATEVER. NORMAL PEOPLE APOLOGIZE AFTER HURTING SOMEONE. BUT NOT YOU, OH-NO, DEAN WINCHESTER DOESN’T APOLOGIZE. JUST SITS THERE LIKE THE PROUD ASSHOLE HE IS, AND CALLS ME A SELFISH BITCH. THAT’S A DIRECT QUOTE, BOBBY. _DIRECT. QUOTE._ ”. Sam yells all of this into his jeans, tensed up so tight he swears he’s going to rip a muscle or something. He’s just so angry, he doesn’t know what to do with all of it. 

 “That’s because you ARE a selfish bitch!” Dean shot back.   
  
“DEAN!” Bobby yelled. “Enough!”

“Exactly what I think. Enough.” Dean leveled his gaze on his brother, tears burning in his eyes. “Enough, Sammy. Because it’s clear to me that everything you said to me these last few days has been a lie. You don’t give a shit about me. You don’t fucking CARE about me. THAT was the lie. And I’ve had enough of your lies, Sammy.”  
  
Dean climbed into the Impala before either of them could reply, slamming the door and turning the engine over. Angrily wiping the tears from his face he planted his foot on the accelerator, kicking up the gravel as he took off down the driveway.

All Sam could do was scream. What the hell was even happening anymore. Of course it wasn’t lies. He loved Dean more than anything. Now Dean hated him, didn’t want him to be happy, thought what he had said was lies. All Sam could do was scream. Ripping into his arms with his nails, he ignored Bobby’s freaked out attempts to take his hands away. He screamed for about three hours, until he finally got so exhausted that he simply passed out on the porch, Bobby looking so distressed and worried that he might pass out. 

 

* * *

 

  
He’d really thought Sam had been telling the truth about loving him. Dean kicked himself for being so naive as to believe that Sam, selfish little Sam, could see anything passed his own self-hatred. That night and morning burned in Dean’s memory, a short moment of happiness in the suckniness that was his life.  
  
But no, Sam couldn’t let him be happy. Sam had to make everything about him. Had to lie to himself to justify why he didn’t deserve to keep on living. Dean punched the wheel with his good hand, shaking his head. Sam wanted HIM to apologize? For what? Saving Sam’s life? Raising him? Trying to be there when Sam needed someone?  
  
Dean eventually pulled off at a bar, heading inside. He waved his fake id so that the bartender would serve him, Dean order whiskey straight up. He nursed the glass with his good hand, sipping on it. Feeling eyes on him Dean frowned, hand slipping to where he kept his gun and cursing himself as he remembered he’d left it at Bobby’s.   
  
“Winchester,” a male voice purred behind him. Dean turned slowly on the bar seat, shooting a shit-eating grin at the group of men that stood there.  
  
“Can I help you, gentlemen?”

 

* * *

 

A few minutes went past before Sam simply sighed and said. “Look Bobby I know you’ve got a speech in you, get it out.”

To his credit, the man smiled just a tiny bit, before sighing himself. “I’m not so good at this sort of thing… But here goes,” he mumbled “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with Dean right now. Or you and your… Screaming. We gotta get you a punching bag or something different, ‘cause my ears hurt. But anyway. You two need to talk. Properly. No yelling”.

Sam closed his eyes, and tried to listen, but just hit the same wall, the two story high wall named ‘ _Dean didn’t try to tell me otherwise when I said he hated me_ ’. He wasn’t so sure about all the things Dean had told him anymore. Sam was so insecure… It had been hard to believe that his brother loved him in the first place. Now? After all that Dean said today? Impossible. Bobby interrupted his thoughts then, awkwardly shuffling around for a moment before announcing “I know about you and Dean. Your… not to brotherly relationship” he admitted. God.

Today the world just really wanted him to die, didn’t it?

 

* * *

 

“Gonna ask you again, Dean,” the leader said, leaning in close enough for Dean to smell the hint of mint on the other man’s breath. “Where’s your father?”  
  
Dean set his jaw, glaring up at the man. Even if he had known Dean would never have given away his father’s location. They’d been at this for god knows how long, Dean tied to a chair in some warehouse they’d taken him too after they’d subdued him. They’d beaten him, threatened him, even tried to sweet talk him; Dean wasn’t having any of it.  
  
“Look Dean,” the man said, standing back. “We don’t like doing this. How about you just tell us where he is so we can all go home.”  
  
“How about you just fuck off,” Dean replied.  
  
His head snapped around painfully as the punch connected, knocking Dean’s teeth together painfully. From what Dean could gather they were the lackey’s of whatever or whoever his Dad was hunting. No doubt this was what John had been afraid of, and Dean had walked straight into it.  
  
Dean cleared his throat and spat blood to the side, glaring back up at the man who’d struck him. “You done?”  
  
He took the beating.

 

* * *

 

Sam and Bobby’s talk was far from relaxed. It was awkward and fumbling, but Sam got it all out anyway. Told him what Dean had said, about loving him, how they were yesterday morning, perfectly happy. Then how it started going downhill, just from that one little comment. He had time to think, but he still didn’t know what was happening in Dean’s head.

Sam understood now that his brother was just scared when he knocked him out, he wasn’t trying to kill him, Bobby explained it about a hundred times. The boy was still lying in the exact same position a half hour later, feet in the older man’s lap, sighing.

“I just don’t understand though. Each and every single time I said accused him of hating me, he never ever told me otherwise. Just complained about other things. He never tried to correct me, tell me he loved or anything,” he explained, staring up at the warm brown wood of the ceiling. “How is he expecting me to calm down and talk to him if he won’t even tell me differently… I don’t even know what to do. I just… I love him so much but what if he changed his mind. I mean he thinks what I told him was a lie, it wasn’t Uncle Bobby! I swear. I love him so much and I just can’t lose him but he hurt me but he did it ‘cause he loves me… Right? I don’t even know anymore I-”

Then Bobby cut him off with a sharp “Sam”. “Sam breathe” he ordered, stern but soft. What did he mean, breathe? he was fine. His brother didn’t love him but he was fine or maybe he did love him but now he thinks Sam doesn’t love him and…

Then blackness.

 

* * *

 

Dean hit the ground hard as they threw him down in the parking lot outside the bar, the area oddly vacant despite the late hour. He’d have laughed if the pain hadn’t been so bad, Dean pushing himself up to his feet unsteadily before regaining his balance. They’d seemed to realize that he wasn’t going to give them any information despite their torture, or had just assumed he didn’t know.

“Give your daddy a message,” the ‘leader’ said, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. “Tell him to call off the hunt, or my boss will just have to send me out to pick up you and your brother. And trust me, we won’t let you go next time.”  
  
Dean ignored the pain in his body as he brought himself to full height. He laughed through the pain, giving the man a smile. “Wish I could see your face when my Dad kills your boss.”  
  
Dean could have sworn he saw the man’s eyes go black the second before he heard the loud bang and a blazing pain in his gut sent him tumbling to the ground and into darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

He woke up to something cold on his forehead. Blinking his eyes open, he saw it was a white facecloth. Bobby was sitting on the end of the couch again, waiting for him to wake up. “Hey Bobby. I did it again didn’t I? Passed out I mean,” he asked, sitting up carefully, there was a gross feeling in his stomach…

“Yup. That’s the second time today. You gotta stop doing that. And you gotta stop thinking your brother doesn’t love you. He does, I can tell you that. He’d die for you, you know that Sam” Bobby told him, while Sam propped himself up with the pillows. He didn’t feel so good. He felt like he was gonna-Then he leaped off the couch, sprinting to the kitchen and throwing up in the sink. Bobby quickly got up and came over, finding his a glass of water “Sam, you okay?” he asked, obviously fearing the worst already.

The boy waited a moment, still curled over the sink, before straightening up and taking a sip of the water, before answering “Yeah… Yeah I’m okay”.

 

* * *

 

He could feel his blood seeping into the seat, and he wished he could have put a towel or something down. He laughed despite himself – here he was bleeding out from at least two gunshot wounds and he was worried about blood soaking into the leather of the Impala.   
  
He kept his foot flat to the floor, knowing he was racing against the clock. He felt relief wash over him as he spotted the familiar arch of Singer’s Salvage Yard, Dean swinging the Impala around and down the drive. He pulled it up, spotting the door open even as he shut off the engine.  
  
Dean opened the door, a smart ass remark on his lips. His body had other ideas though. He thought he heard Bobby’s exclamation of “balls!” but he couldn’t be sure. All Dean knew is that the second he’d opened the door to the Impala he’d found himself falling. He vaguely registered his body hitting the ground before the darkness finally took him.

 

* * *

 

Sam was tense now, worried about him. He was a dick, yeah, but not quite as much of one as he thought earlier this morning. Then he heard a small, gruff whisper from Bobby, “you’re both stubborn idjits, too alike for your own good” and he had to bite his lip to keep the laugh in. Then he heard the telltale growl of the Impala, and they both rushed to the front door.

Bobby stopped on the porch, and said something he couldn’t hear. Sam was too busy sprinting towards Dean, where he caught him just before he hit the ground. “Dean? Dean! BOBBY! BOBBY QUICK, TAKE HIM INSIDE, HE’S BLEEDING. I THINK HE’S BEEN SHOT!” he yelled, even as Bobby lifted Dean from the ground. Sam sprinted ahead, realizing that his brother was already out. Dean was going to be fine, he was going to make god damn sure of that.

Clearing the kitchen table, he rushed to get Bobby’s huge first aid kit from on top of the fridge, obeying as the older man yelled orders at him for cloths and towels. Bobby made sure he was under, numbed his body, and ripped off Dean’s clothes. Then he reached into him with tongs, right before his eyes. Sam tried to blink away the tears as he got the suture kit, and sewed Dean’s smaller wounds. He was going to be okay. He was going to be fine. He had to. He had to.

“Sam it’s okay, we’re gonna fix him,” Bobby suddenly hushed, still concentrating on his work. Sam had been speaking those thoughts out loud. 

Dean became aware of lying on his back, hearing voices. He recalled the events before he had collapsed and realized he was at Bobby’s. He distantly remembered Bobby coming out of the house and something else. Sam. Sam grabbing him just as he was hitting the ground.  
  
Dean forced his eyes open, the pain clawing at his consciousness. He blinked away the fuzziness of his vision, spotting Bobby to his side. Dean realized he was lying on the kitchen table, and he could feel Bobby working on removing the bullet in his abdomen. Dean reached out, grabbing for Bobby’s sleeve only to have the elder man swat his hand away.  
  
“They found us,” Dean managed out, tasting blood. “After Dad.”

“Shh,” Bobby said. “Worry about that later.”  
  
Dean turned his head as he felt someone working on his cuts, and after a second he realized it was Sam. He swallowed hard, guilt welling up inside him. He grabbed Sam’s hand, holding it as tightly as he could as tears escaped his eyes. “Sammy, I’m sorry.”  
  
The darkness took him again, Bobby catching his head as he fell back. Sensing something was wrong Bobby checked Dean’s pulse. Relieved when he found one, Bobby checked that Dean was breathing.  
  
“Oh no you don’t, boy,” Bobby growled as he realized Dean had stopped breathing from the physical shock of the injuries. “Don’t you die on me.” He looked up at Sam. “Sam, I’m going to need to you keep your brother breathing while I finish pulling these bullets out of him. Think you do that?’

All of a sudden he saw Dean’s hand move, reaching out to touch Bobby. Sam just stared, pausing in his work. His brother spoke, but he didn’t hear, there was blood rushing in his ears. Then Dean reached over to him, gripping his hand. “Sammy I’m sorry” he whispered, before his head lolled backwards. “Dean? Dean!” Sam shrieked, desperately looking to Bobby for advice.

Nodding, he put a gentle hand on Dean’s cheek, and performed CPR, just like he knew. He went into a daze, of _breath, breath, check for pulse, breath, breath_ … Tears flowed down his face, and he kept gripping his brother’s hand, even though it was limp in his grasp. 

Then Bobby was touching his shoulder, and when he looked down, Dean’s stomach was sewn up, washed clean. “Come on, we need to get him upstairs. You got him breathing. He’ll be okay, I promise” Bobby told him, gently lifting Dean. He didn’t want to know what Bobby had done, how much damage there was, he just wanted to see those pretty greengreen eyes again, blinking up at him like they had this morning. There was nothing else to sew up, the rest was simply bruises, so he got a cloth and wiped his body down with alcohol, glad that Dean couldn’t feel anything right now. After they were finished, they took him up to Sam’s bed, still unmade from being slept in, and just had to hope for the best.

Sam sat on the chair next to the bed the whole night, crying into his hands.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean woke slowly, pain almost overwhelming him. The first thing he noted was that he was now on a soft surface, and that it was a warm one at that. He opened his eyes, blinking away the haze and casting his gaze around. It was daylight, and he was relieved to find himself in Bobby’s spare room rather than in a hospital – Dean had developed a firm hatred for hospitals. He’d spent enough time in them as both patient and visitor to last him the rest of his lifetime.

He checked his wounds, noting both the gunshot wound in his abdomen and the one in his leg were cleaned, sewn up and bandaged. He took stock of the rest of injuries, finding them equally cared for. Bobby had always been a good makeshift doctor and had taught Dean a lot of what he knew.

Hearing a soft noise, Dean cast his gaze to the side to find Sam in the bed next to him, sleeping fitfully. Dean could tell straight away Sam had been crying. He winced, knowing he’d probably been the cause.  
  
Licking his lips in an effort to moisten them, he reached out and brushed Sam’s thigh with his fingertips. “Sammy. I’m sorry, Sammy.”

Sam blinked slowly, eyes feeling funny from crying so much. There was a hand on his thigh, and he gasped a little. Looking up from under the cover, he saw those greengreen eyes blinking down at him. “Dean?!” he asked, launching up at him. He didn’t know how much pain he was in so he refrained from touching, except for a few untouched places on Dean’s face. “God Dean I hate you so much can’t you just stay next time?? God I love you so much if you ever leave me again I’ll kick your butt and tie you to the bed I swear, you idiot!” he exclaimed, placing kisses all over his face before claiming his mouth.

Dean couldn’t help but wince slightly at those words, guilt raking through him. Sam was right – Dean shouldn’t have run away like he had. And it WAS running away. Even their dad had ripped Dean a new one in the past for Dean simply walking out when things started getting too emotionally close to home.   
  
Dean closed his eyes at the kissing on his face, letting out a shuddering breath as Sam’s lips closed onto his. Dean brought his less injured hand up to Sam’s face, smoothing a hand over those tear stained cheeks. Dean returned the kiss gently, trying to put as much love as he could into it.  
  
“Wouldn’t blame you if you took a swing at me,” Dean said when they pulled back for breath. He smirked slightly. “REALLY wouldn’t mind if you tied me to the bed.”   
  
He let out a long sigh, closing his eyes for a second. He trailed his fingertips lightly over Sam’s face, searching Sam’s eyes for any sign of where they currently stood. “It’s just… I’m scared, Sammy.”

Sam glared at his brother; sex was so not on the menu right now. “Groveling comes before my jeans are on the floor, Dean. Plus, you’re not in the best of shape” he informed, admiring that little smirk.

He wanted to hit him and tell him off and call his a jerk, but he also just wanted to kiss him and touch him and appreciate him. Sam closed his eyes, feeling Dean’s fingertips on him. “De,” he murmured, “I don’t know how to make it better. But yesterday didn’t help so much.” Then he remembered how his brother had doubted his words, what he had said back at the cabin, and kissed him again, forcing his lips to part and let him in. Sam knew he should be being gentle, Dean was in a pretty bad state, but he just couldn’t help it. Pulling away, he insisted “De, what I said at the cabin, I meant it. I love you so much. I meant everything I said, I promise you.”

Dean felt guilt rake through him at Sam’s words, mixed with anger. Anger at Sam for pushing him away. Anger at himself for letting Sam do it. He tangled his fingers in Sam’s hair, kissing him back. Dean wanted to roll them over and straddle Sam, undress him slowly and worship every inch of Sam’s fast developing body.  
  
Dean instantly missed Sam when his brother pulled away, swallowing as he listened to Sam’s words. He nodded. Deep down he believed what Sam had said to him at the cabin. “I believe you, Sammy. I meant it too.” He trailed his thumb over Sam’s cheek, watching the path of his fingers. “I’ve been in love with you for years, kiddo. I’m just so scared of losing you.”  
  
He hooked a hand behind Sam’s neck and pulled him back down so that Dean could kiss him slow, exploring Sam’s lips and mouth with his own and committing it to memory. He was still scared that Sam would suddenly disappear; that Sam would either walk out the door forever or find some other way of harming himself.  
  
A sharp pain in Dean’s side pulled him back to reality. He dragged his mouth from Sam’s, gasping at the intensity of the pain. Memories of the torture flooded back, faint panic sweeping him as Dean realized he wouldn’t be able to protect Sam and Bobby as he was now.  
  
“Sammy, they found us.” Dean said, gripped Sam’s shirt. “The things Dad was hiding us from. They’re demons. They know where we are.”

Sam’s breath hitched a little, hearing that his brother had been in love with him for years. Dean Winchester, everything he’d ever wanted, wanted him back. He was about to say, “don’t be scared, Dean, please” before his mouth was yanked down to his brothers. Then Dean’s lips were gone and he whimpered, wanting them back.

Sam listened to Dean, and felt dread low in his stomach. They weren’t safe here anymore. “Bobby?” he called out, knowing he’d hear. He was trying to stay calm, not freak out, but damn that was hard when all of a sudden your safe place isn’t safe.

The door swung open and their uncle walked in, waiting to hear what the yelling was for. Sam turned to Dean to explain.

 “Back with us then, kid.” Bobby said, moving to the chair Sam had been in earlier and dropping down into it. Dean became aware of the fact he and Sam were in a slightly compromising position and felt himself go red, Bobby waving it off. “Oh don’t worry about it, I know. Now what’s all this yelling about?”  
  
Dean looked at Sam then back to Bobby. “I got jumped at a bar,” he explained. “Group of them. Knew who I was. Managed to take a couple of them down, but they got one up on me. Next thing I knew they’ve got tied up in some abandoned piece of crap building, torturing me to try and find out where Dad is. When they realized I didn’t know they dumped me back at the bar, told me to tell Dad to get off their bosses ass and shot me.” Dean set his jaw. “I saw the leader’s eyes flash black.”  
  
“Demons,” Bobby said.

Sam stayed quiet, listening to Dean’s story. That hurt, hearing what he had to go through. He curled up into his brother’s side and tried to block it out, pretending everything was okay. “De,” he whispered, ducking under the covers and pressing his face into his brother waist, not wanting to think about anything. The thought of Dean being tortured… was a thought he refused to have. Things were already crazy enough.

Dean felt Sam move and rested a hand on Sam’s head, absently stroking his hair. “I don’t get it, Uncle Bobby. Why would demons be after Dad?”  
  
“Last I heard he had a lead on the thing that killed your mother,” Bobby said. “Probably some big boss demon that’s got info.” Bobby frowned, scratching his beard. “Don’t know about you, but if I had John Winchester on my tail I’d be scared too.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean laughed softly, shaking his head. “Are we safe here?”  
  
“What kind of question is that?” Bobby stood, straightening his shirt. “I’ll put word out that there’s demons in town. Local hunters will take care of them. You just worry about getting well.” He moved to step out of the room, pausing. “And Dean? Sam? Talk to each other will you? You idjits.”  
  
Dean’s eyebrows rose slightly as Bobby left the room, closing the door behind him. Dean turned his attention downward, smoothing down Sam’s hair. “Sammy?”

 “mmph” Sam mumbled, sound muffled by the skin of Dean’s waist. He was trying not to press too hard, for fear of hurting his brother. He was still in a pretty bad condition. Sam was trying to hide his entire body away beneath Dean, but obviously there was not enough room, so he just pressed his face into the space between his back and the mattress beneath. Ignoring reality.

The hand on his hair felt nice, and it made him feel just a little bit better, but the fear was still at the edges of his mind, creeping in.

Dean knew what Sam was doing. It was an old habit; something Sam had been doing for as long as Dean could remember. Dean remembered when they were little they’d hide beneath the sheets, holding each other. For Sam back then it had just been the monsters under the bed, but for Dean he’d known those monsters were real.  
  
Dean kept stroking Sam’s hair, wanting to pull him up into his arms and cradle him to him. The pain in his body reminded Dean why he couldn’t, and Dean did a quick assessment of his injuries. Two gunshot wounds – abdomen and leg. One broken arm – worse than it had been. Two broken fingers. Three fingernails removed. Various cuts and wounds from where daggers had been used. Endless bruises. At least two cracked ribs. Dean didn’t even want to see his face.  
  
“It’s alright, Sammy,” Dean said softly. “Uncle Bobby will keep us safe. Nothing can get us here.”

Sam stayed exactly where he was, eyes closed, concentrating on the hand in his hair. It was warm under the covers, and he felt safe. Dean spoke to him, and that helped even more, but he still declared “not leaving this bed ‘till they’re dead”, words half-lost under the covers. Then he laughed, because he made a room.

Sam simply needed distracting from the fact they were being hunted, and that he’d almost lost Dean right in front of his eyes. The damage to his brother’s body was okay, because they would heal, he was alive. “De, I hate you god dammit,” he groaned, a hand slipping down his thigh, “love you so much, if you had died… I would have killed you again,” he finished, words coming out as a growl.

 “Now you know how I felt when you tried to swallow that rat poison,” Dean growled, feeling a quick flash of anger. He pushed it back. There would be time for that later. “Was my own fault, Sammy. Shouldn’t have stormed out the way I did. Definitely shouldn’t have left my gun behind.”  
  
He brought his hand down to the back of Sam’s neck, smoothing the fine hairs there and noticing the tension on Sam’s body. He wanted badly to try and ease it, massage it away like he did every so often. He wouldn’t be able to do much for a while, at least until his wounds had closed up. Bobby’s stitching was excellent but Dean knew better than to risk it.  
  
“I swear to God, Sammy, only you can get me that worked up over nothing.” Dean chuckled at that. “Not even Dad can piss me off that much.”

Sam tensed up, hearing the anger in those unexpected words. Yeah, he understood the anger now. Understood it As Dean needing Sam, like he needed Dean. Frowning, he agreed “yeah you shouldn’t have left your gun behind, you idiot,” still stroking down up and down his thigh. Sam almost laughed at that remark, but was reminded of the cause of the entire argument. “De, why was I annoying? I was just holding your hand, and telling you I loved you. Do you not like that?”

He started edging away from his brother, not wanting to annoy him again “I mean, I could… I’ll just not touch for a while, okay?” He whispered. God he hoped Dean would get better quick, that nothing would get infected. He was feeling how it was to be in his brother shoes now. Frowning in thought, he asked “what did you mean, I when you yelled at me in the car? ‘If you ever shut me out again you’ll have hell to pay’, or something like that. I don’t understand what you meant.

“Sam, you wouldn’t stop humming and bouncing around. You were doing it for two hours. That’s what annoyed me.” Dean shook his head, rolling his eyes. “How would you feel if I kept singing for two hours? Especially when we knew something was tailing our ass and we needed to be on the lookout?”  
  
Dean was enjoying the feeling of Sam’s hand on his thigh. Normally he knew he’d have a hard on, but the pain in his body squashed any thoughts of sex. Rather the touch was like a soothing balm, calming Dean’s nerves and helping him relax.   
  
“I said I’d make your life hell,” Dean continued, “if you shut me out. Again. The way you’ve been shutting me out for months and driving me insane.” He gritted his teeth, feeling the anger trying to come back up. “I’m not going to let it go now, Sammy, especially when I know what’s going on. What I meant is that if I had to tie you down until you told me what was going on, I’d do it. You can’t keep this shit bottled up.”  
  
Dean couldn’t help but note the hypocrisy in that. He wasn’t about to tell Sam though. Hell, he wouldn’t have even told Bobby if the man hadn’t caught Dean with the business end of a gun in his mouth over a year ago. Dean remembered the half panic in Bobby’s voice, the way Bobby had said ‘what are you doing, boy?’. Bobby had managed to talk Dean down, and Dean had spent the better part of the night sobbing in Bobby’s arms. Bobby had talked him down then and gotten him fixed up enough to function again; Dean hoped he could do the same for Sam.

Sam shut up and listened. This was hurting Dean, he could tell. “I didn’t really think you’d noticed much,” he admitted quietly, wanting to let his brother talk, but wanting to explain himself as well. They were both pretty fucked up, and there was probably more that he wasn’t telling him. “You want me to tell you things?” he asked, taking his hand away from Dean’s thigh, the rest of him not touching either. He didn’t want to hurt his brother, and he didn’t want to annoy him either.

Sam resolved to tell Dean what was going on, and if he was getting dangerous. He understood how his brother had felt now, how desperate he’d been. “De? I love you,” he whispered, staring at his exposed hip.

“I want you to tell me everything.” Dean instantly missed Sam’s touch. It scared him a little how much he depended on it now he knew he could have it. It was like Sam had suddenly become his grounding point which was a little messed up considering Sam was just as suicidal as he was - maybe even more so.  
  
Dean reached down, catching Sam’s arm and trying to tug him up. He needed Sam in his arms right now; needed to feel Sam against him. Needed a reminder that he was safe and that the torture was over. “C’mere,” he said softly.

Sam made a little happy noise, liking that Dean wanted to touch him, but shook his head. His brother was way too hurt for cuddling right now. “Give it a few days, De. Then we can do whatever,” he persuaded, simply scootching a little closer and touching him again. Touching was okay, as long as he stuck to unblemished areas. Cuddling was a big no, from Sam _and_ Bobby.

“I’ll tell you everything, I promise. But, maybe not right now, you need to focus on getting better” he thought for a moment, before adding “plus. I know you’re not the golden boy, you have to tell me everything as well,” with a sly smirk.

Dean felt the corner of his eye twitch. “Okay,” he said, forcing back his hesitation. He swallowed hard. “I’ll tell you everything once you’re ready to tell me. You’re not going to like it though.” He reached for Sam’s hand, catching it in his and threading their fingers together. The way Sam was acting like he was made of glass clued Dean into the fact he had almost died on the kitchen table, but he decided against asking.  
  
Dean turned his head, suddenly wanting to kiss Sam again. The notion was quashed as there was a soft knock on the door, Dean looking up to see Bobby.  
  
“Just got off the phone to your daddy,” Bobby said. “You’re gonna wanna call him as soon as you’re able.”  
  
Dean cringed. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”  
  
“Course I did.”  
  
“Oh man…”  
  
“Your daddy has every right to know one of his boys has been injured,” Bobby reminded him, a stern look on his face. “Besides, you said those demons were wanting to know about him so he needed the heads up.” Bobby shrugged. “Oh, and you should probably know that Caleb has finished with the werewolves and is heading back to Sioux Falls to look out for those demons.”

Sam watched Dean turn to him, and leaned forward, eyes on his lips, until there was a knock on the door. Sighing, he moved back, seeing Bobby come in. “Oh god” he groaned, hearing that his father know knew everything. Rolling onto his back, he tried not to think about black eyes and old buildings.

It was hard.

He used to worry about this stuff all the time, what would happen if dad didn’t come home from a hunt, or more importantly, what could happen to Dean. Now they had to call John, something he wasn’t looking forward to. He’d never really gotten along with the man. Dean was his sole parent. And… now lover too.

Peeking out from under the covers, feeling like much of a five year old, he said “Bobby… You’re sure we’ll be okay, right? They won’t find us here?” If someone came now… It wouldn’t end so well. Dean could hardly move save for one arm and one leg. Sam was scared.

 “I’m no spring chicken, kid, but I can hold my own,” Bobby assured him.  
  
“Caleb will take care of it,” Dean added, stroking his thumb across the back of Sam’s hand. “And once I’m up, I’m going to rip their lungs out.”  
  
“You ain’t doing squat until you are up,” Bobby said, leveling a look on them that told Dean he had been warned. “Don’t make me tie you to the bed, Dean. Trust me, you won’t be able to Houdini your way out.”  
  
Dean shot him a grin. “Have before.”  
  
“You got lucky.” Bobby turned back to the door. “You’re on bed rest until I say so. And Sam,” Bobby looked up, “make sure your idjit brother stays put.”

Sam practically died trying to hold back his snicker… He was the only one allowed to tie Dean to the bed. His brother’s touches were helping, he always did know just how to make him feel better.

Dean was grinning like the cheeky asshole he was at Bobby, so Sam was too, he couldn’t help it.

Upon hearing the order, he over exaggerated a serious face, and a salute. “YES, SIR.” he barked, before watching Bobby leave the room. He closed the door behind him, which was perfect.

Turning to his brother, he raised his eyebrows in warning, before declaring “I am the only one allowed to tie you to the bed, got it?” He wanted to get on top of him, straddle him, but wasn’t sure if it would hurt. Better to just not. Better to wait a few days.

 “Oh really now,” Dean said, settling back onto his back and looking at Sam with amusement. “Jealous much there Sam?”  
  
He teasingly prodded Sam in the ribs, Dean trying to fight off the sudden wave of exhaustion that had swept through him the second Bobby had left the room. Dean hated being injured. It made him vulnerable, and when he was vulnerable he became defensive. He forced it down, instead using his good hand to check under his pillow. He frowned, glancing around.  
  
“Hey Sammy, could you do me a favor and find my knife? I’d feel better knowing it was nearby, you know?”

 “Shut up,” he answered instantly, slapping him lightly on the leg. He knew there were no wounds there, he had checked his entire body. Dean poked him in the ribs, and it was like a normal day.

“Yeah, I think I know where it is actually… Bobby hid it from me, but hey, he’s pretty bad at hiding stuff. I’ll go get it,” he said, before leaning down to kiss Dean’s forehead. “Now you be a good girl and stay in bed!” he called, already half way out the door where Dean couldn’t hit him from.

Dean kept his smile on his face until Sam had left the room before he let it slip. He closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair as he let out a shuddering breath. The pain was manageable. He’d definitely had worse. What was bothering him, however, was the fact that right now Bobby and Sammy were in danger and Dean couldn’t do a thing about it.  
  
He’d fucked up royally, he knew that. He’d let his guard down for a moment. allowed himself to be distracted, and now he was going to have to pay for it. It was times like this that Dean realized that the other hunters were right – Dean would never be John Winchester. He could try so hard to be as good as his dad, but no matter what he did he was never going to fill those shoes.  
  
Dean’s job was to protect Sam. That had always been his job. It was a job Dean knew he sucked at. He’d so often messed up that Dean had once told their Dad that maybe he should find someone else, and John had looked at him with that look that told Dean everything he needed to know - his dad was disappointed in him.  
  
And now he could see that look in Bobby’s eye. To top it all off, he could still feel the anger toward him, the tension between himself and Sam. This was why Dean didn’t like letting anyone close, so that when he let them down - as he always did - the sting would be less.  
  
And right now he was hurting like a bitch.

Sam was feeling okay. The situation wasn’t so great, and he was scared. Dean was hurt, but it seemed like everything was going to be okay. Dean seemed happy, their relationship seemed better. They were fixed, right?

Walking down the stairs, he crossed the distance to the kitchen, opening up the bottom drawer. It was filled with tea towels, dusty old cooking books (Bobby would never admit to owning those), and at the bottom there was Dean’s knife, along with practically every other sharp object in the house. Bobby and John had always hidden the guns in there, and Sam pretended he didn’t know where they were. But he’d always known. Sometimes, he used to take out those knives and press them to his skin, just to feel it.

Shaking away those thoughts, he pulled out his brothers knife, (he always remembered what it looked like, from the handle to the tip of the blade). Shutting the drawer after recovering the books and weapons with the tea towels, he walked back up the stairs, putting the smile back on his face. Those memories had screwed with his generally okay mood a little bit, but as long as Dean was feeling okay, then Sam was okay.

Swinging the door open, he held up the blade in triumph, and closed the door behind him. Walking over to his brother, he plonked himself down next to Dean, handing it over, handle first.

Dean fixed the smile back onto his face when his brother returned, taking the knife from him and sliding it into its place under his pillow. He always slept better knowing he had some kind of weapon nearby, and his knife or shotgun were a permanent fixture under his pillow.  
  
Dean caught the front of Sam’s shirt, pulling him down so he could kiss him. He thought about going to sleep, but there was one thing he needed to know first. “Sammy… on the kitchen table… I almost died, didn’t I.” It wasn’t a question, and he watched Sam’s face for a reaction.

Sam grinned wider as he was all of a sudden being yanked towards his brother, Dean claiming his mouth with a kiss. After pulling away, his brothers face darkened all of a sudden, and he knew what was coming. He had guessed Dean would want to know what happened. He kept his face in check, smile hardly even faltering as he replied “it was okay, everything went okay, and you’re fine now, aren’t you? So you don’t have to worry,” In his best happy-go-lucky tone.

I hadn’t been okay, not at all. And he was worried that if he told Dean, it would upset him more. He couldn’t have stress, he needed to heal.

 “Oh no, don’t you do that,” Dean said, warning in his voice. “I can tell when you’re bullshitting me, Sammy.” Dean tightened his grip on his brother’s shirt, gazing into his eyes and seeing the pain Sam was trying to hide behind his smile. It told him everything he needed to know.  
  
Dean nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I DID die,” Dean said, setting his jaw. “You guy’s brought me back but it was a close one.” He narrowed his eyes. “So what was it? Couldn’t have been lack of blood because Uncle Bobby doesn’t exactly own a blood bank down there. I’m guessing it was shock. Between the torture, getting shot and the adrenaline wearing off my body couldn’t handle it.”

Sam’s face dropped a little, roughly being pulled closer by his brother. Swallowing, he looked everywhere but Dean’s eyes. God dammit, why did he have to know Sam so well? He could always tell when he was lying, and it was starting to get annoying.

Grinding his teeth together, he kept his eyes down on the mattress in between them, tapping a finger in frustration. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about Dean’s eyes sliding shut, how he had to breathe for his brother, how Sam was the only thing keeping him alive at that point. He didn’t want to think about the fact that he had cried all night, listening carefully for each and every next breath of his brothers, pain, guilt and dread churning in his stomach.

Closing his eyes, he gripped the sheets beneath his hands, ignoring the hand fisting his shirt. He was breathing heavy now, working hard to keep the memories away.

He could see the pain on Sam’s face and knew he’d hit the mark. Dean let out a shuddering breath. It wasn’t the first time he’d been that close to death after a hunt or fight. Dean could remember more than once coming around to find their Dad leaning over him, telling him to wake up and be okay. They’d made a point of never telling Sam about those times, just like they didn’t tell him how close they’d come to John dying. Sam worried about them enough on hunts as it was.  
  
Dean brought his good hand up, catching Sam’s jaw in the palm of his hand and dragging his thumb over those lips. He wanted to kiss him right then, but he had to know something first. “Sam, I need to know. You’re good with this, right? Us, I mean. It’s not just some pity thing or something you feel obligated too. You’re not just… using me. This is real, right?”

Sam tried to slow his breathing, just calm down, Dean’s right there, he’s okay. His brother grabbing his chin helped to bring him back to reality, grounding him. Taking a little breath, he opened his eyes. His breath washed over the tip of Dean’s thumb, which was running over his lips, and felt ridiculously nice.

Then Dean was speaking, and he sounded scared. Scared of what the answer to his question might be. After he’d finished speaking, Sam simply sat there for a moment, before slowly, so slowly, leaning towards his brother. Looking into the greengreengreen of his big pretty eyes, their noses brushed together, before he pressed the gentlest of kisses on his lips, closing his eyes. He lingered there, lips still touching. Sam savored the feeling.

“That’s the most ridiculous question I’ve ever heard,” he whispered, words splashing against Dean’s mouth. His hands were either side of his brother’s head, digging into the pillow. “I love you, Dean,” he promised, pulling back a little to give him a stern look, making sure that his words were hitting home.

Dean swallowed hard as Sam leaned over him, savoring the feeling of the brush of those lips against his. He wanted desperately to grab Sam’s hips and coax Sam to straddle him, but a twinge in his abdomen reminded him that he was out of action for at least a week.  
  
Dean’s eyes narrowed as he heard Sam’s voice, never taking his eyes off Sam’s face as Sam spoke. He could see Sam’s stern look and met it with his own. “You didn’t answer the question, Sammy,” Dean said softly, forcing himself to keep his eyes from Sam’s lips. He needed this right now.

He needed the truth, to hear Sam say just where he stood in this relationship. Because Dean wasn’t about to let his brother use him. It was one thing to have his heart broken by a girl; it was another thing entirely to have Sam do it. If Sam really WAS using him during his dark times, if Sam just dropped him and laughed him off, Dean knew he wouldn’t hesitate to swallow that bullet and he wouldn’t let anyone stop him next time, not even Bobby.

“Because it’s a stupid question, Dean” he answered, stern look still set in his eyes. Leaning down, he kissed his brothers chest, and again, going further down. He was careful, barely ghosting over wounds and stitches, being a little more firm on unharmed places. Sam started to speak as he made his way down, murmuring into his skin “it’s a stupid question, Dean. I love you, I love you so much and I would do anything for you. I don’t want you to leave me alone, and I won’t ever do that to you. You’re stuck with me, forever” in between kisses.

He knew Dean was feeling a little insecure right now, but he didn’t want him to. He wanted to fix it. He always wanted to be there to fix it. That was when he decided. No matter how much it hurt to stay alive sometimes, he would stay live for Dean, to take care of him. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered all of a sudden, hoping that his brother would pick up on the undertone.

Dean watched him, noting the sincerity in Sam’s eyes. He let out a long breath as he felt a weight seem to lift off his chest. Dean reached down, casually flicking at the hair that had slipped over Sam’s eyes, smiling tightly at him.  
  
“Don’t take it personally, baby boy, but I won’t be able to get it up right now. Hurting too much.” He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Need to sleep for a bit.” He frowned. “Could you check to make sure I didn’t bang up the car on the drive back?”

Sam laughed, looking up at Dean through his hair. No matter how much his brother tried to move it, it would still be in his eyes. That’s just the way it went. “I know, De. Wasn’t trying to get you all hot for me” he assured with a wink, before placing one last kiss to his stomach and jumping up off the bed. 

Trudging down the stairs, he couldn’t help but feel a little insecure. He wanted to ask Dean what he had asked Sam. 

Dean watched as Sam disappeared out the door before settling back onto the bed. He gritted his teeth as he checked over his injuries, taking in the expert stitching that could have only been done by Bobby. He flexed his injured hand, noting it now had a lot less movement and a lot more pain.  
  
Once he was satisfied he had catalogued all the injuries, he rested back against the pillow and stared at the roof. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done the right thing coming into a relationship of this nature with Sam, especially given how fucked up they both were mentally.  
  
Besides, Dean reminded himself, Sam was only 16. All raging hormones and that. Dean remembered when he was 16, how he hadn’t been able to stay with a girl for more than a week. ‘Sowing the wild oats’, his father had said. Dean smirked, remembering the disapproving look Pastor Jim had given John at the time. Dean knew his dad still sowed wild oats of his own.  
  
Cringing at the thought of his dad having sex, Dean glanced back toward the door. He believed Sam, he really did, but he still couldn’t help but feel unsure about this whole thing. Dean was committed to it - he was always committed to things that involved his brother. But Sam… the way he talked to their dad, Dean was so sure Sam would up and walk out on the family first chance he got.  
  
Closing his eyes, Dean let out a long sigh as he allowed himself to drift off into an uneasy sleep.

Sam’s smile dropped as he trudged down the stairs. Opening the front door, he looked out onto the junkyard, Impala sitting just where Dean left it. It hurt, remembering how his brother had fell out of the car. Sam walked slowly, so slow he was practically crawling, face contorted in pain. 

Reaching the car, the traced the door handle with his fingertips, before popping it open. Sam slid inside the backseat, gently closing it behind him. Wrapping himself up into a ball, he averted his eyes from the blood pooled in the driver’s seat and around the pedals. He would clean that. But right now he couldn’t do anything. Sam couldn’t get over the feeling that it would come crashing down all of a sudden. Dean would change his mind, tell him he lied. Then his condition would get worse. What was Sam supposed to do, huh? He didn’t know how to function like a normal person.

He had Dean to help him do that everyday.


End file.
